


The Last Night

by ohheyyhannah



Category: The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst and Romance, Bracelets, Childhood Friends, Dreams and Nightmares, Edwardian Period, F/M, Imprisonment, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Slow Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 87,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23688265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohheyyhannah/pseuds/ohheyyhannah
Summary: Cordelia Carstairs has just become engaged to James Herondale, a dream of hers since they were children. But with James still wearing another woman's bracelets and Cordelia's deepening affections for a man that does not reciprocate them, Cordelia finds that there is only one thing for her to do.
Relationships: Cordelia Carstairs & James Herondale, Jesse Blackthorn/Lucie Herondale
Comments: 47
Kudos: 125





	1. Never Enough

Lucie Herondale shook with the knowledge she had just learned about the bracelet that her brother wore so loyally. If Matthew hadn’t been there to hold her arms back, she would have gladly hit Grace Blackthorn with her tightly wound fist.   
Back in Matthew’s car, she glared out the window at the gray London skyline, bracing herself as Matthew sped past a group of boys on bicycles, narrowly hitting a car passing on the other side of the uneven cobblestone street.   
“We need to find James and get that bracelet.”  
“You heard what she said,” Matthew argued. “He won’t willingly take it off.”  
“Then we take it off of him,” shouted Lucie, sounding terribly like her mother when Tessa rarely showed aggression, which was usually elicited by someone talking about her family or her close friend in a way that she deemed cruel or unkind. “You hold him down,” Lucie continued, “and I’ll rip the bloody bracelet off and smash it into pieces.”  
The terrible things she had said to James when she couldn’t find Cordelia made her cringe. She wished she could take them all back, but knew that she couldn’t. The truth was, she was angry at herself more than him. They were to be parabatai, she should know how to find Cordelia. She should know the place Cordelia would look to for solace, for strength, and they should be a place of solace and strength for each other.   
“Lucie.” Matthew reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “It’ll be all right.”   
Lucie wanted to believe him, to take comfort in his words, but something dreadful told her that it wouldn’t. It couldn’t possibly be all right. 

* * *  
Cordelia stole a moment before she entered through the door. The weight of her sword Cortana across her back served as a reminder of her courage and strength. The light from the fire inside flickered under the door casting a warm orange glow across her feet that she wishes would extend to the dark corners of her mind and warm her heart. Her fingers shook where they grabbed her thin, silk coverlet, focusing on the light beading in the design of daisies. She’d tried to dress in a manner that she thought he would like. If it were to be his last memory of her, she wanted it to be a good one.  
Her hand hovered in the air for a moment and she thought dreadfully of turning around. All of her life she’d lived in lies: lies her brother wove to protect her, lies her father designed to protect himself; even lies her mother told to protect everyone. She would not lie to herself, even if it tore her very heart out of her chest. Even if it darkened her dreams and erased her fantasies forever. Even if it meant she was ruined.   
She felt ruined already.  
The door burst opened and her heart quickened in her chest. Jamie stood in front of her, his crown of dark curls fell into his eyes that were circled in darkness; their color blazed yellow like the glow of the fire light. He hadn’t changed out of his clothes from the night before and she wondered, darkly, if it was because they still smelled like Grace.  
The image of the two of them locked in a passionate embrace violated her thoughts. She caught her breath and focused on the undone button just below his clavicle.  
“Daisy,” his voice was rough. He reached out for her, the silver bracelet catching the candle light. She stepped back before he could reach her.  
A muscle in his jaw tightened as he swallowed. His hands, empty, opened and closed as they dropped back down to his sides. “Cordelia…” She had never heard her name said in such a way, as if it were the most important word. It was nearly enough to shatter her. "Please, come inside."  
He moved away from the doorway so there was enough room for her to come inside. The London Institute library look so different during the day, but she found she much preferred the night. The fire provided a warm glow that casted strange shadows of the furniture across the floor. The glow of the gas lamps flickered and hissed in their glass chambers. She was overwhelmed with the desire to fold herself up as small as possible in the velvet arm chair with a book in her lap and warm cup of spiced tea.   
“I cannot properly express how sorry I am," said James, drawing her attention back to what she was meant to be doing, "but if you could please, allow me to explain.”  
“It’s not necessary James,” she said, not unkindly. If she could, she would listen to him talk all night long and forget any animosity that she felt towards him, but she needed it to give her strength for what she was about to do next.   
“This is entirely difficult for me to say.” She wished she could go on the other side of the door and speak, but that felt incredibly cowardly. “Growing up, I was very much alone. I had Alastair, of course, but we were very different and often wanted different things. To spend the time, I would read anything I could find which wasn't much so when I'd read everything there was I'd create these elaborate fantasies in my head." She paused for a moment to take a breath. "It was very difficult to let the outside world in. To let the truth in and ruin it, which is why I think it was so easy for me to say yes to your proposal, because it made sense for my fantasy. But James, I feel as if it was the most selfish thing of me to do.”  
“Selfish?” Jamie shook his head. “Daisy, I have been the selfish one, not you.”  
“Please, let me finish.” Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “When you asked me to marry you, I saw a life so different from the one that I am living. A life surrounded by people who love me and people who I love. I promised myself if I ever found that within my possession I would never let it go.”  
“It can still be yours.” James, ignoring her protest, reached for her again. This time, his hands wrapped around her wrists and brought her scarred hands up to his mouth. She allowed him to kiss the tops of her fingers; the promise ring he’d slid onto the second to last on her left hand. “Do not let what I’ve done take this away.”  
“I cannot marry you James.” The words spilled from her by their own volition.   
He released her as if she’d burned him. “It’s only for a year. Then we will come up with a lie and you’ll be free to marry whomever you choose. Someone who can—”  
“What?” She asked. “Someone who can love me?”  
Who could ever love you like that?   
The fire was quickly dying behind James allowing a chill and darkness to descend upon the room. His eyes, burning embers and gold, held her gaze and filled with a terrible sadness.  
“Where will you go?” His eyes darted away from her face and then back again.  
“Home. To Idris,” she said. It was mostly true. She wouldn’t go home to stay. Being a ruined woman and all, her options were limited and she couldn’t stand the idea of returning to the lonely life that was left for her in Idris. Alastair promised to return with her and keep her company, but she couldn’t subject him to the same fate she sealed for herself. The idea came to her in a dream. She joined the Iron Sisters where she forged weapons as strong as the one that hung on her back.   
“What about Lucie?” His eyes blazed and his tone turned chagrin. “It’ll break her heart.”  
“So would losing her brother,” said Cordelia. “I don’t regret what I did. Not for a single moment. Lucie will understand. She is clever and will make anyone a wonderful parabatai.”  
“And what of the rest of us?” James took a step towards her, closing the distance between them. “Anna. The Merry Thieves. My father, who told me if I hurt you, he’d throw me into the Thames.”  
Cordelia smiled, but she suspected it looked more like a grimace.  
“We’ve all grown to appreciate your presence in our lives,” continued James. “It will be like ripping pages out of a book, nothing makes sense without it.”  
His features blurred together through her water-rimmed eyes when she looked up at him again. “You will fill it with something else- someone else.”   
“No.” The word was a breath on his lips.   
The grandfather clock on the wall startled her as it chimed eleven times. If she didn’t leave soon, Alastair would come in looking for her and she wasn’t sure she could stop him from enacting his threat to deal James a world of pain for hurting her. It took her a great deal to calm him down before she wasn’t sure she could do it again.  
It didn’t matter though. She had said all she needed to say except the two words she needed to, but couldn’t bring herself to say.  
So instead, she turned from him and walked towards the door, except her foot caught on the Persian rug and she stumbled downwards when a hand caught her wrist. Another wrapped around her waist, spinning her back, and she was crushed again him. His face buried in her neck. His arms like a vice, leaving her breathless.  
“James,” she sobbed.  
“I can’t— I don’t want to lose you.” His words were muffled against her skin. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her jaw, her cheek, until his mouth hovered over hers. An invitation. All she would need to do was look up, but it’d be her choice.   
Her hands went from his shoulders to his face to stop him, or to stop herself, she wasn’t sure. She slid the pad of her thumb across his bottom lip, wet with his tears, and remembered what it felt like to kiss him in the Whispering Room of The Hell Ruelle. Warmth climbed up her chest and into her cheeks.   
It had been a kiss of passion and one that she didn’t want to replace with one of sadness and regret.  
“My father once told me that love is like the flame of a candle.” She felt his chest press against hers when he breathed. Every inch of him touched every inch of her. “To keep it lit you need to protect it. Block it from even the slightest breeze and it will carry you through even the darkest of times. I thought, for the briefest moment, that maybe if I kept my light, my love, burning maybe one day one would grow for you too.”   
Her hands slid down to his chest, and as gently as she could, she pushed him away. “But I see now that’s not possible. Not when you have a flame that burns so brightly for someone else.”  
James opened his mouth to say something, but no words came. It hurt worse than any broken bone, cut, or bruise she’d ever endured. She had the answer she’d come for. She could stand no more torment.  
Slowly, she backed away from him, until she was nearly at the door.   
His hand circled his other wrist, around the bracelet, as if he were going to take it off.  
“I wanted so badly to marry you.” She quickly wiped at a tear that had escaped down her cheek. “But a year with you, as your wife, is not possibly long enough.”  
“Cordelia— I”   
“Goodbye James,” she whispered into the space between them and took her leave before anymore words could be said. 


	2. My Mistake

The fire crackled and stirred eating slowly away at the fresh log James had just applied to it. With half a bottle of brandy warming his belly, he sat in the plush velvet arm chair and stared at the bright crimson flame, until a familiar darkness slipped over him. 

As hard as he fought it wasn’t enough, when his eyes closed he was standing in a hallway, as black as a moonless night in a lampless London alleyway. A damp chill sent goose bumps riddled across his skin. When he breathed out, his breath was a white cloud of air. His heart beat heavily in his chest, pounding against his rib cage, threatening to burst. 

He was painfully aware of the fact that he was weaponless. 

But this was just a dream? Wasn’t it.

James. A distinctly female voice called to him from ahead. 

He reached out his hand into the darkness when he felt the sticky silk of a spider’s web coat his fingers. He ripped his hand back and wiped it on his trousers. The web was so thick that it bound his fingers together. 

“James?” A voice came from behind him this time. He could see the faintest glimmer of light echoing off of the walls of the tunnel. It flickered and blazed like the tip of a candle.

He recognized that voice. It was soft, sweet, warm, and full of memories.

“Daisy?” 

He started towards the light. His muscles felt like they were full of lead, as they often did in dreams. As if the mind was reminding the body that nothing around it was real. 

“James…” the voice hissed from behind him. “Come back to me, James.” 

“Grace?” He glared into the darkness, but he could see nothing.

“Help me,” the voice whimpered. “Won’t you help me, James. Don’t leave me.”

He looked behind him at the light, it was getting smaller and smaller. An intense and innate desire to run towards it nearly strangled him. 

But Grace, she needed him.

“How can I help you?” He moved forward into the darkness, away from the light, and stepped right into another web. It stuck to his face, his hair, his eyelashes making it difficult to open his eyes. His hands were coated in the silky mess. It climbed up his arms, covering the bare skin of his forearms, reaching up to his elbows.

He cried out, clawing away at it, but that only seemed to make the web multiply quicker.

“James, I’m scared.” 

“Tell me how to reach you,” he begged.

“Look up.”

He raised his eyes and from the darkness emerged Grace. She looked almost normal, her long silver blond hair hung loose down her shoulders. She had on a white cotton dress that covered nearly every inch of her. Descending upon him like an archangel, she was beautiful, porcelain and stone. As she got closer, the shadow of eight long spiked legs of a spider came from out from her back. He could see that the once silver of her eyes were now black and the points of her teeth as she grinned made him audibly gasp.

In shock or fear, he fell to the ground away from her and pushed himself back.

Grace reached for him, her fingers too long and her skin translucent.

He reached for his weapons belt but remembered that he didn’t have it. 

Not that he could hurt her. It was Grace. His Grace. Wasn’t it?

“What—“ He got to his feet and rose to face her. “What has happened to you?”

“I am as I always have been,” she hissed. “You just lack the eyes to see it.”

Grace loomed over him. Her feet were bare and the bottoms black.

A sharp, burning pain seared into the wrist that wore the silver bracelet she had given to him. When he looked down at it, it seemed to be glowing and infusing into his skin.

James grabbed at the bracelet to remove it.

“No!” Grace shouted, a thick stream of webs shot out from her hands that nearly struck James when a blade arched up and cut through it before it could.

Wrapped in a blaze of golden light as brilliant as the North Star, James caught a flash of crimson standing over him, blocking Grace. 

Cordelia.

*** 

“Cordelia!” 

James jolted awake in the exact same position that he’d fallen asleep in. A pair of familiar blue eyes hovered over him, followed by a cheeky grin that mirrored his own.

“While I have been known to fill out a bodice nicely,” said his father, Will, as he kneeled down in front of James, “I’m afraid it’s only me.”

“Father?” James looked frantically around the room and up at the ceiling expecting to see Grace hovering in the dark corners where the firelight couldn’t reach. The library was empty except for the two of them. 

James dragged a hand through his hair, damp with sweat, and slumped into the chair, exhausted and suddenly ill.

“Bad dream?” Will picked up the empty bottle of brandy from the floor and appraised it judgmentally. “Was it ducks? A giant worm? Gabriel?” 

“Spiders,” said James, unable to explain further.

Will nodded and wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulders. It hadn’t occurred to James how naturally it fit there until now. His father’s arm used to be so much larger, longer, stronger compared to James’s narrow shoulders. It’s not that his father had changed, it’s that he had. Not a boy anymore, but not yet a man either. When he was a child, his father would wrap his arm around his neck and pull him in for an unwelcome kiss on the top of the head. Now, he welcomed it when his father did just that. 

“Is everything all right?” Will asked, releasing James again. “I saw Cordelia leave tonight. Your mother advised that we give you ‘the space’, but I find pestering to be a much more satisfying tactic when it comes to our children. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you remember when you told me that love is painful, but worth it?” Will nodded. “Is it always supposed to be painful?” James stared into the flames and remembered the curl that fell in Cordelia’s face right before she said goodbye. How he had wanted to reach out and brush it away and let his fingers linger on the soft warm skin of her cheek, riddled in freckles that he could only image she got from running in the sun of her home country. His body responded to the lack of her touch more than it ever responded to Grace. “Are there ever moments when it isn’t?”

“Yes,” said Will. “Of course. Love can feel like many things. It can feel like coming home after a long trip away. It can feel like all of your favorite things wrapped up into one thing. It can also be quiet and simple. An unconscious act, like holding hands or a quick glance in the person’s direction.”

“Are you talking about your love for mam?”

“I’m talking about my love for all of you,” said Will, with a gleam in his eye that hadn’t been there before. “What’s this about, Jamie? Do you fear you don’t love Miss Carstairs or that she doesn’t love you?”

Jamie let his head fall back against the chair and stared at the golden etchings in the crown molding of the ceiling. The way the paint caught the light make it look like the ceiling was full of stars. He didn’t know how he felt or what was real anymore. 

When he’d arrived at the Lightwood House, where Grace was in his aunt Cecily’s charge, he’d made up his mind to tell her that it was over between them. At least until his marriage to Cordelia was over, but then hadn’t he plotted on ways to extend it? The timing wouldn’t be right for a divorce. A year practically screamed a sham wedding. What of the children? Poor Matthew, Lucie, Anna, Christopher, Thomas… they’d have to pick sides. They’d choose Cordelia, of course. 

A year, as your wife, is not possibly long enough.

Hadn’t he thought as much only hours before seeing Grace.

Grace. He thought about the dream, when he was running towards the light, but his muscles felt weighted. When he saw Grace that night, his muscles had felt similar, as if he had no control over them. A dull, ache settled over his excited bones. She pulled at him as easily as the moon pulled the tide. 

Yet, when she tilted her head up for him to kiss her, it didn’t feel as if it were all together his own decision. When her hands stripped him of his coat and unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his chest underneath, it felt like strings were operating his hands and feet.

And wasn’t he almost grateful when Lucie and Cordelia had come through the door?

Cordelia, the way her eyes had expanded and the sharp inhale of breath. She’d even reached for the door to allow him and Grace their privacy. 

I’ll not be unfaithful to you, he’d promised. 

The chair slid when he pushed himself to his feet and walked the five paces to the fireplace and slammed his hands onto the mantle relishing in the pain he felt through his palms. 

“Jamie,” said Will from behind him, “Whatever it is son, you can talk to me.”

“She left me,” he said for the first time since it happened. “And I don’t think she’s coming back. What do I do? I don’t know what to do.”

“In my experience there is only one thing that you can do,” Will shrugged. “You go after her.”

“And then what?”

Will thought on it a moment, his eyes held James, and behind the icy blue of them and all of his sarcastic comments, Jamie knew that there was years of knowledge. “You tell her the truth.”

“What if I don’t know what the truth is?”

“If you don’t know then you should let her go.”

“I don’t want to lose her.” When he picked up his head, his father looked at him with a look that could be misunderstood as pity, but was actually understanding. “I don’t know that what I feel for her is love, but I know that I want her in my life.”

“As much as you desire Miss Blackthorn in your life?” 

More. He thought but cringed. 

“You said that Herondale men only love once!” Jamie raised his voice at his father in a way that he never had before. “I’ve been holding onto that my entire life. If I’m in love with Grace then I cannot possibly be in love with some else.”

“Are you in love with Grace?”

“I—“ The answer seemed to want to come out of his throat on its own- like it was being pulled by an invisible thread. An instinct or a compulsion.

Yes! Of course he was. He always had been, but… 

Before he could answer, the door to the library burst open and entered a string of people lead by Tessa and followed by Lucie, Matthew, Magnus Bane, and a disgruntled Church who seemed to be judging James as harshly as everyone else.

“That thing right there!” Lucie pointed her index finger at James the way she used to do when they were children and she was casting the blame onto James for breaking a vase or lighting the couch on fire. 

It didn’t occur to him until Magnus reached for his wrist that Lucie was pointing at his bracelet. Magnus’s careful fingers sent a tingle up James’s skin as he examined the bracelet externally. His eyes, the irises horizontal slits instead of round, appraised the piece of jewelry as if it were a weapon that might spontaneously combust.

When he touched it, his eyes snapped closed. His eyes danced back and forth under his eyelids as if he were reading a scroll. The room was silent, except for Church cleaning himself on the chair he’d stollen back from James. Everyone was watching Magnus except for Will who was watching his son with intent. 

After what felt like several minutes, Magnus dropped James’s wrist and stepped away. His hand noticeably shaking.

“What is it Magnus?” Tessa asked, breaking the silence. “What did you see?”

“How long have you been wearing this tragic piece of jewelry?”

“Since I was thirteen?”

“How old are you now?” 

“Seventeen.”

Magnus looked surprised and looked down to count on his fingers as if to make sure James was telling him the truth. When he was satisfied, he dropped his hand again and looked back at James. 

“Is it enchanted?” Lucie asked. Her hair was coming loose from the delicate brain she’d kept it in. A leaf stuck out from behind her ear. James wondered how much of London she uncovered looking for Cordelia and felt a pain in his chest. 

“It is,” said Magnus before promptly slapping Will’s hand when he reached for his son’s wrist. “Don’t touch it. Unless you desire to fall madly, however blindly, in love with Grace Blackthorn.”

Will looked at Tessa. “I don’t prefer blondes.” 

Tessa tilted her head in annoyance, as if to say now was not the time, but James could see the blush rising out of her cheeks and felt like leaving the room. 

“It won’t matter what you prefer,” said Magnus, “you won’t have a choice. This bracelet contains a powerful dark magic that compels whoever wears it to obey the previous owner.”

Lucie said something that earned her a stern look from her parents. Matthew looked pleased. 

“Have you ever taken it off?” Magnus asked.

“Once,” said James.

“Why?”

“Because Grace asked for it back after she— she became engaged to someone else.” 

He wanted to step out of the room for a moment as everything started to piece together in his head. The bracelet was enchanted. Enchanted with magic. Enchanted with a spell that compelled the person wearing it to fall madly, blindly in love with its owner. Grace. 

None of it had been real?

But it felt real. 

Magnus cursed. “As I suspected.”

Tessa grabbed James’s arm. “What is it, Magnus? Can’t he just take it off now and you can disenchant it?”

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it were that simple?” Magnus took a long inhale. “No, I’m afraid he needs to be compelled to take it off by the owner, otherwise the spell will still be on James.”

“Why even wear the bracelet then?” Matthew, who had shared his thoughts countless times on the tackiness of the thing, believing himself that Jamie’s color was clearly gold. “If the spell is going to linger like a bad decision.”

“The bracelet makes the spell stronger,” Magnus explained. “I’m not sure what the repercussions of removing it from James would be? It could be normal. It could be devastating. Anyone care to find out?”

“Don’t you dare,” said Tessa, at the same time James answered, “Take it off.”

“James,” Tessa gasped. “Did you not hear what he just said? We don’t know what will happen.”

“I need to know,” he looked from his mother’s worried eyes to his father’s understanding gaze. “I need to know if any of it is real. I need to know that what Magnus is saying is true because if it is…”

I’ve just made a terrible mistake. 

“Look on the bright side,” said Matthew, now standing beside the fireplace, “at least you weren’t enchanted to be in love with Tatiana Blackthorn.”


	3. Clay Memories

Thunder crackled over the carriage as it drove down central London. The streets were empty this time of night except for those wayward travelers and the few patrons on their way home from the pubs. Rain fell in torrents in a way that Cordelia hadn’t seen it rain in a long time. With her head rested on Alastair’s shoulder, their hands bound together like when they were small children, she watched the city that she’d grown to love blur past her through the window. Alastair had taken her hand when she emerged from the Institute and hadn’t let it go since. Her skin, just a bit lighter than his own, but still similar. He smelt like their father she noticed: a warm spice mixed with smoke. It was comforting in that it reminded her of home: of white hot sand, open kitchen windows, and colorful tapestries that her grandmother said were known to capture spirits. As a child, the intricate black designs reminded her of runes by the way they swirled and bent and stood out amongst the other colors, because of that, she believed there to be magic in carpeting.

When they’d visit Sona’s family in Persia, Cordelia felt a deep and dormant part of her come alive. She’d join the other children in the sand coated streets and run barefoot in the shadows of the clay buildings. Men would fill the hallways with laughter as women, adorned in their colorful silks and intricate beading, would throw flowers from windows as the children ran by. When it would come time for them to leave, she’d wish that she was a tree with roots so strong that nothing could uproot her.

How desperately she wished to share that part of her with James. To run with him in the warm shadows, barefoot as their own laughter filled the alleyways. They would drink spiced tea in the garden while exchanging their favorite pieces of literature by the trickling water fountains.

No, she couldn’t let herself think that way any longer. He wasn’t hers to fantasize about anymore. She would need to learn to fold up those thoughts and bury them away into a distant part of her. It was the only way to survive. The hardest parts aren’t the goodbyes, she thought, but the flashbacks that follow. The memories and what-could-have-beens.

“Layla?” Alastair stirred her gently. “Where have you gone to?”

“Home.” She answered sleepily.

He patted the back of hand gently. “We’ll be there shortly.”

“Not that home.” Cordelia sat up and turned to face her brother. “Do you remember going to grandmam’s house, in Persia? Do you remember their house on the top of the hill that looked out over all the clay city? Do you remember the way the kitchen smelt like abgoosht?”

Alastair nodded. “I can’t believe you remember it. You had been so young.”

“I remember all of it,” she said. “Do you think that we could ever go back there?”

“Of course, Layla.” Alastair reached up to cup her cheek in his gloved hand. “We can go wherever you’d like. Idris won’t be like it was before. We’ll have each other, and before long our new sibling to keep us busy. Lucie can come to visit, Anna, and—” His voice trailed off with his thoughts. Cordelia wondered if he thought about Thomas. She had wanted to ask him what happened between the two of them, but if Alastair felt anything like the way she felt upon simply hearing the name James, she didn’t want to be the catalyst for his pain.

She hadn’t told him of her plans to join the Iron Sisters. She hadn’t told anyone. It seemed terribly cruel to keep it a secret from her brother who was about to uproot his entire life in London to live with her in Idris. He tried so desperately to make it sound like a fairytale and the adventures that they would have.

“Alastair,” she began, “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I’m—“ She noticed for the first time the thin webs around his eyes and the deepening crease between his eyebrows. He’d already put so much of his life on hold because of her, to protect her, she couldn’t allow him to do it any longer. “I’m not going to stay in Idris and I don’t think you should either.”

His dark eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“There’s nothing for us there.” She took a deep breath, trying to draw strength. “Because of what I’ve done, the Clave won’t likely allow me to join in missions, and by affiliation you’ll be excluded as well.”

“Where would you go?” Alastair’s tone grew more firm.

“To the Iron Sisters.”

“No.” Alastair shrank away from her as if she’d struck him. “The answer is no, Cordelia.”

“I’m not asking.”

“Well as your older brother and your guardian, I’m saying no.” Alastair moved to the other side of the carriage and rapt twice on the glass window.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m turning this carriage around that’s what I’m doing.” Alastair nearly shouted at her. “Had I known your intentions of joining that underground cult, I would have never agreed to leave London.”

“They’re Shadowhunters,” said Cordelia, “just as you and I are Shadowhunters.”

“I would never be able to see you, Cordelia.”

The carriage merged onto the side of the road and came to a stop.

Alastair turned back around to face her and slowly slid down into the seat. “You’d be isolated, worse than Jem, it’d be like—like you were dead.” He turned to look out the window as the rain fell in crooked streams over the glass like translucent veins. His jaw shook the way it did when he was adamant about something and could not be budged.

“I want to be known for something other than scandal,” said Cordelia. “The Iron Sisters offer me the chance to change my fate, to take back a semblance of my honor, and do something with the life that I have been given. Alastair?” She reached for him but his expression had gone cold. “I won’t let you waste another moment of your life because of me. I made my choices and I’m ready to accept the consequences for those choices, but I will not let you shield me from this— the way you did with father.”

“You had a childhood because of what I did.”

“And you will have a beautiful life because of this.”

Alastair dropped his hand from his mouth and shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “No, I will have nothing.”

He had said once, offhand, when he thought no one was listening, you don’t actually end up with the people you love, but with the ones who stay. At the time, she thought it cruel and the thought made her sad. She felt as thin as a piece of paper. The last thing she wanted to do before leaving was upset her brother. He will heal one day, she thought. One day, he will forgive her. He’ll find someone to love and to stay.

Their driver came around to stand at the carriage window awaiting further instruction.

“Dâdaš.” His eyes that mirrored her own flashed to her. They were red and full of rage: at her, at everything. She reached for again when their carriage jolted forward, nearly throwing Cordelia into Alastair, except she didn’t quite make it and instead ended up sprawled out on the carriage floor.

“Bloody hell.” Alastair turned to the window where the driver had been standing, but he was no longer there.

“What was that?” Cordelia asked, pushing herself up to her knees.

“I’m not sure.” Alastair reached for the door. “Stay here. I’ll see what’s going on.”

“I’m coming with you.” Cordelia successfully got to her feet and followed her brother out of the carriage— the rain so thick she could hardly see in front of her.

“Cyril?” Alastair called for their driver. “Cyril, what’s going on?”

Cordelia glared down the dark road where she thought she saw a figure standing in the middle of the street, but it very well could have been a trick of the mist. Rain dripped down her face, flattening her hair, and drenching her clothes in minutes. A horse screamed in agitation behind her, but when she turned around to investigate, she felt her foot catch on something. She looked down, expecting her boot to be caught on a stone, instead finding a blood red hand wrapped around her ankle.

“Cyril!”

“Run, Miss Carstairs, run.”

She fell backward when the carriage started moving again. A scream only comparable to nightmares ripped from her throat as the wheels rolled over Cyril trapped underneath it. Afraid to open her eyes, Cordelia fumbled to her feet again. The skirt of her dress becoming increasingly heavy with water but she managed to find her footing.

“Cyril,” she sobbed, turning around slowly, when a pair of arms reached out for her. She screamed, but recognition settled in, as Alastair’s face appeared before her own. He pulled her into his chest and whispered in her ear not to look.

“What’s going on?” She demanded over another ripple of thunder.

Alastair had a spear in his right hand, held out in front of them ready to empale whatever or whomever came near. At some point, he had abandoned his waist coat and tie. “I don’t know.” His eyes danced sharply around them. “Draw Cortana, I believe we’re under—“

Before he could finish his sentence, a great wind beat down on top of them and for a moment the rain stopped. Simultaneously, they looked up as a Diggoron Demon with a wing span of twenty feet, a body the length of a whale, and the jaws of a dragon screeched above them. Its sharp tail, barbed with spikes, swung down towards them.

Alastair shoved Cordelia aside and took the brunt of the hit sending him flying through the air and into the darkness.

Cordelia landed painfully on hands and knees, but in a moment, her hands reached behind her and grabbed the hilt of Cortana. Instantly, she felt warmth radiate through her palms as if she’d grabbed the end of a burning log and not the metal end of a sword. The blade rang as she drew it from its home and held it out in front of her.

Her breath came out in a white cloud as the air around her took on a great chill. Rain dripped into her eyes marring her vision. The air smelt heavily of sulfur and the metallic tang of freshly spilt blood.

Her feet slipped on the pavement as she ran in the direction Alastair had been thrown. The streets were empty and unnaturally dark without the glow of the moon. All of the lamps had been snuffed leaving her alone in complete darkness. She hadn’t enough time to draw a night vision rune, besides her Stele was tucked safely in her bag on the runaway carriage.

When she was a child, as a part of her training, she would wrap a blindfold over her eyes and let loose a Revarrt demon, a small seemingly harmless bug except it packed a terrible sting if one allowed it too close. It had a particularly high pitch buzz. With her eye sight gone, Cordelia would hold out her blunt weapon as if it were Cortana and wait for the buzzing to come close and swing.

It felt as if she were back in the training room in Idris again, waiting for the buzzing to get close enough to her.

“Cordelia!” She heard from her left and stopped. It came again from behind her. “Cordelia!” Her name took on different voices: Alastair, Lucie, Sona, Matthew, Elias, James.

“Cordelia.” Something hissed right behind her ear. She swung Cortana in an ark but whatever had been there had left in a wave of smoke.

“What do you want?” She yelled into the darkness. “There’s no need for games.”

She felt something brush the side of her neck. In a flash of gold, Cortana cut through the air, but once again she was met with nothing. Movement caught the corner of her eye on her left. A dark mound lay in the middle of the road.

Alastair.

She stumbled into a run, Cortana’s weight in one hand, as she raced to her brother. A slow, dark current circled his head and ran down the street.

She fell down beside him, Cortana clattered to the pavement beside her, as she carefully picked up his head in her hands. There was blood everywhere, more blood than she thought she’d ever seen in her life. Head wounds bleed the worst, she told herself. It was fine. He would be fine.

“Cordelia.” More blood seeped from between his lips, staining his teeth. “You— It wants—“

“Don’t speak.” Quickly, she found a hole in the hem of her dress and ripped a piece from it. It was wet and filthy but she pressed it to his head and picked up his hand to hold it in place. “I’m going to find the Stele. We’ll put an iratze on you and it’ll be fine. Hold that in place.”

He mumbled something as she stood up again.

A gust of wind, so powerful it nearly pushed her forward, swept past her again. As she reached for Cortana, a moment too late, the spiked tail of the Diggoron demon connected with her chest.

A spike lodged into her ribcage, but she hardly noticed, looking out at the glistening city of London from such greats heights. For a moment, while her body lay suspended in the air, she thought about how quiet it was. Without even a chance to scream and all of the air knocked from her chest, it was inexplicably silent- as if time and space had stopped.

The bliss, however, was short lived. Her stomach flew to her throat as her body fell through the air towards the earth and landed back on the street sliding across the stones like a limp doll until her back slammed against a wall.

Sound and pain rushed back to her. Unable to draw breath into her lungs, her heart rate elevated in her ears. It felt like she were drowning on dry land. Rain ran into her eyes and spilt down her cheeks as she looked up at the blackened sky swirling with rain and mist.

A figure came to stand over her. For a brief moment, she thought the face familiar. The tangle of dark hair lay limp now and the eyes, went from warm yellow to black. His fingers grazed her cheek as he spoke her name. James. A great pair of wings spread out from his back and the darkness seemed to swallow her whole.


	4. Complicated Magic

“Maybe he should lie down?”

“I don’t need to lie down mother,” said James, not unkindly, but with a bit of annoyance. “He’s removing a bracelet, not my arm.”

“If you don’t remain still,” said Magnus, his dark eyebrows glistened with flecks of glitter when he arched them, “it might well be.”

Magnus stood in front of James in the center of the Institute library with James’s hand suspended between them while the warlock focused his attention on the seemingly inconsequential silver band that adorned James’s wrist. If one were looking from afar without any context at all it might appear comical. Flecks of blue light danced from Magnus’s fingertips causing the silver to rattle against James’s skin. He wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or if the bracelet had begun to glow. No. It was most certainly glowing and hot. It rattled and spun until it   
became so hot that James ripped his arm away on instinct. 

Magnus looked up, resigned and slightly paled. “It’s a much more powerful spell than I initially realized.” 

“How do you mean?” Will asked from where he sat on the desk under the arched stain glass window. Rain hit the glass as thunder crackled against the Institute’s walls rattling the crystal chandelier above them. “Will it come off?”

“It’s the strangest thing.” Magnus picked up James’s wrist again. “An absolute work of genius, actually. It’s as if it’s alive and it’s fighting against my magic.”

“Well I’ve had quite enough.” Lucie stood up from the floor where she had been petting Church in long, absentminded strokes. She smoothed out her dress and walked towards the door. 

“There seems to be only one thing left to do.”

“What’s that?” Matthew asked from where he stood in front of the door, blocking her way. He seemed more steady than his usual self. His hand wasn’t twitching where it held the door frame; his eyes focused and clear. They had all wondered what brought on his sudden sobriety. It seemed after one conversation with her father and he’d dropped the sauce like one of his waist coats that he deemed “out of style”. Will had that effect on people. It was best not to question it.

“I’m going to collect Grace Blackthorn and drag her here so that she can ask James to remove the bracelet her-bloody-self.” Lucie came to a stop in front of Matthew. It may have been the shadows cast across his face, but Matthew almost appeared afraid.

“No, Lucie, we aren’t sure what Grace is capable of,” said Tessa. “You said only moments ago that she confessed the truth about the bracelet, but you failed to think to bring her here to remove it?”

Lucie’s mouth opened in defense, but closed as if she forgot. She turned back to Matthew with a quizzical grimace. “Why didn’t we bring Grace back with us?”

“She—“ Matthew raised a pale eyebrow. “I must say I don’t recall.”

Lucie turned her back against the wall and crossed her arms over chest. Heat radiated to her face despite the chill that surrounded the room. Anxiety prickled underneath her skin like the desire to run as far and as fast as she could. 

It’d been a whole day since she last spoke to Cordelia. They’d stood in the foray of her Aunt Cecily’s home after having walked in on her brother ravishing Grace Blackthorn against a wall. It was not an image that would soon evaporate from her memories. A blind rage filled her so suddenly that she feared she might have blacked out for a moment. When she came to, the walls behind James and Grace started to ripple and crease as translucent figures emerged from the atrocious paisley wallpaper. Their fleshless hands reached for the disentangled couple when   
Cordelia wrapped her hand around Lucie’s wrist and the door closed between them. 

No one had seen anything. Not even her brother whose eyes were fastened on Cordelia. No one knew the dark depths to which her power could reach— not even herself. 

“I know you’re upset, darling,” said Tessa, from beside her daughter now, “but have faith that Magnus can remove the bracelet and we will figure this all out.”

“We don’t have time for faith and waiting.” Lucie dropped her arms back to her sides. “Cordelia is on her way to Idris and after what James did, she’s likely to rune her room with wards not even the Angel himself can get through.” 

James grimaced. Good, she thought. He deserves to be in pain.

“That doesn’t sound like Cordelia to me,” said Tessa and pressed a hand to Lucie’s cheek. “You’re warm darling, are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine.” Lucie insisted. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment I think I’ll pop into the kitchen for a glass of water while I have faith and wait.”

Tessa looked resigned. “Maybe someone should go with you.”

“It’s only down the hall,” said Lucie, skirting past her mother towards the now empty doorway. Matthew stood beside James, an arm around his shoulder, as the two of them studied the bracelet. Matthew said something in James’s ear that brought a small smile to her brother’s face. Whatever they had fought about only days ago, it seemed not to matter now. Or if it did, other things took precedence at the moment. 

Tears stung her eyes as she turned from the scene and exited the room.

The framed pictures on the hallway walls rattled with the thunder. Lucie stopped to readjust one that had tilted slightly of her sitting in a deep purple velvet arm chair studying a book. She secretly hated the likeness— not because it didn’t capture her respectfully— but because of the memory of it. She had to sit for nearly four hours listening to the artist drone on about his holiday in the Americas while her brother clashed swords with Matthew in the training room next door. 

“Chin up, dear,” Bridget would say from time to time. “You’ll look like a potato.”

Lucie left the photo off center and pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen. To her relief, it was empty. Bridget was probably in her room reading or minding the Institute’s many chores. The kitchen always smelt like rosemary, freshly baked loaves, and exotic spices. It was heavenly and had an instant calming effect on Lucie. Memories of being a child and helping Bridget beat dough with her tiny fists until she was covered in flour from her mess of mousy brown curls to her apron came to mind. What she wouldn’t give to have a mound of dough to beat now.

Lucie walked around the center island, covered in a thin layer of flour, to the cupboard that housed the glassware and pulled a cup from the shelf. The pitcher of cold water sat beside the sink; she filled her cup to the brim and took a sip when a slight chill brushed against the exposed skin on the back of her neck. 

“Not now, Jessamine.” Lucie stared down into her reflection in the cup. The soft wispy hair around her face stood out in delicate curls she’d inherited from her father. A leaf sat tucked behind her ear. The coal she’d lined her eyes with had run making her eyes appear wide and fatigued. 

“Should I return later then?”

The cup fell from her hands and shattered at her feet, but she hardly seemed to notice. She spun around and faced the voice. “Jesse.”

A smile curved at the corner of his mouth. His straight black hair fell against his pale skin; swept across his green eyes that studied her from across the room.

“Where have you been?” The shattered glass crushed under her shoes as she moved forward to meet him. An uncontrollable desire to grab him around the shoulders and collapse into him made it difficult for her to breath evenly. She knew she couldn’t; that it wasn’t possible anymore, but reality rarely dissolved desire. 

“Tracking my fugitive mother,” said Jesse, his lips curled over his teeth. “I thought how hard could it possibly be to find a woman who still chooses to wear an enormous Victorian bird hat?   
Well, it turns out that it’s extremely difficult. If you needed me why didn’t you summon me sooner?”

Lucie averted her eyes to the ink stain marks on her fingers. “I promised I wouldn’t.”

After commanding him against his will to take her to James, she’d made a promise not only to him, but to herself to never command him to do anything again. That included summoning him to her even when she longed to just hear his voice. 

“It’s alright, Lucie.” Jesse stepped towards her but stopped. “Why did you summon me now?”

She looked up aghast. “I didn’t.”

“I heard you,” said Jesse, his expression softened. “It was faint but I heard you.”

Lucie shook her head. “Jesse, I promise you that I did not, or if I had, I hadn’t meant to.”

Jesse opened his mouth to reply when he looked to the kitchen doors. “Someone’s coming.” 

Lucie waited for the doors to swing open to reveal her mother, or father, or Matthew coming to retrieve her after being gone for too long. The air in front of the door rippled, like heat rising on pavement, until the form of a man materialized out of the haze. He was dressed in a rain soaked driver’s uniform, but his back was bent out of shape and his right leg curved out at an unnatural angle.

“Cyril?” Lucie balked, recognizing the man that has driven her carriage since she was a child.

Lucie and Jesse both moved towards the ghost from either side of the room. The water that dripped from his coat splashed onto the floor and instantly dissolved into mist. 

“What’s happened to you?” Lucie demanded.

Cyril looked between them as if he wasn’t all together sure how he’d come to be standing in front of them. “I was told by others that you would be able to see me; that you would be able to help.” He looked down at his hands. “I feel so strange. Everything and nothing at the same time.”

“Cyril?” Tears sprang to her eyes as she realized that he was dead; a ghost standing in her kitchen as he had all of her life. Always casually slipping in to steal a fresh biscuit behind Bridget’s back with only crumbs and Lucie’s giggles left to give him away. He would listen to her stories on long drives and praised her for her prose. He’d laugh in all the right places and made her promise to sign a copy of her first published work, so he could keep it on his mantle. “What happened to you?”

“I was taking Mr. and Miss Carstairs to the London Portal when we were attacked.”

“Cordelia.” Lucie rushed forward. “Where is Cordelia?”

“I don’t know—“ Cyril’s body began to flicker and wain, “I don’t have much time. I’m not supposed to be here, you see, but I fear something terrible may have happened. Something truly, truly terrible.”

Lucie burst through the library doors, the hem of her dress wet from her cup of water and her face noticeably pale.

The previous occupants of the room where joined by three more: Christopher stood beside Magnus surveying the bracelet and Thomas towered next to Matthew. Anna Lightwood was holding Church like a baby beside the fireplace. They all looked to her as she entered.

“It’s Cordelia.” Lucie shouted, her hand gripped the wall to keep her stable. “She’s been attacked.”

The room fell silent except for the small yet noticeable ting of metal hitting stone. Lucie’s eyes, along with everyone else’s, looked down at James’s feet where the bracelet now rested half on the toe of his boot and half on the floor.


	5. Dark and Troubled Times

Cordelia stood in the center of the ballroom of the London institute. It was larger than she remembered it: empty now of the elaborately dressed guests, the waiting staff, the noise of the quartet, and tables of food. The curtains were all drawn away from the arched cathedral windows illuminated the space in the warm light of the auspicious London sun burning away the last hours it had in the sky. The distant London skyline was bathed in blue with not a cloud to be seen for miles. No smoke billowed into the sky from factories or chimneys; no boats crowded the harbors as if she were looking at a picture of London. It felt so warm to be in the light, she wanted nothing more than to bath it in and never leave. 

She pressed a hand to the window and found that it held no warmth or chill; it felt as though she were touching air. A tremble in her chest gave her the terribly feeling that she wasn’t meant to be there— or worse, that she wasn’t actually there at all. 

A light pressure wrapped around her elbow. She turned around to and found herself facing her mother, with her dark hair loose in curls to her waist, standing in front of her.

“Mâmân?” Relief filled her as she wrapped her arms around Sona’s waist and buried her face in her shoulder.

“Layla.” Her mother’s hand slid down the back of Cordelia’s hair, fingers sliding through the tendrils. “Do you remember that song we used to sing together when you were a child?"

Sona grabbed Cordelia’s hand; the other pressed against her shoulder blade and suddenly they were dancing across the room. An odd thing, to be waltzing with one’s mother, but Cordelia didn’t mind. A smile spread across her face as she matched her mother’s footwork as they spun around the room. 

“It’s been such a long time since we sang it,” said Sona. “I cannot seem to remember how it begins.”

Sona released Cordelia in a spin, the delicate soutache embroidered golden mesh of her dress billowed out around her ankles, and when she turned back around Lucie was standing in her mother’s place. Her tawny hair was twisted back in an intricate braid and her eyes, the same intense blue as the Tenerife sea, glistened as she grabbed Cordelia’s hand. Cordelia had never realized how lacking in height Lucie was— but then Lucie had never invited her to dance. 

“If you are the sky’s great moon.” Lucie’s clear voice filled the empty ballroom as she began reciting the childhood lullaby as they floated in a semi-circle around the room. “I’ll become a star and go around you.”

Lucie paused and stepped away from Cordelia, their hands outstretched, but still clasped together like when they were children swinging around in a circle until they both collapsed from dizziness.

Lucie let go and looked over Cordelia’s shoulder. She turned around just as Matthew strolled across the room in a pinstripe suit and picked her up under the arms and lifted her off of the floor. “If you become a star and go around me, I’ll become a cloud and cover your face.” 

Just as he set her back on her feet, a hand clasped her own and spun her around. “Thomas?”

He turned and shuffled down the room with her beside him. “If you become a cloud and cover my face.”

“I’ll become the rain and will rain down.” She turned to her right to find Christopher.  
They raised her arms and both bent at the waist in a bow before disappearing like the rest. Anna came from behind her and walked in a small perimeter around her. Cordelia’s eyes trailed her every step. “If you become the rain and rain down.” 

Alastair walked in the opposite direction of Anna. “I’ll become grass and spring.” The crossed each other and disappeared to opposite sides of the room, leaving Cordelia in the center, right underneath the three tiered crystal chandelier.

A hand slide around her waist. She felt the feather light tickle of fingers sliding down the bare skin of her arm until fingers slide into the spaces between her own. A body pressed firmly against hers from behind. The hand tightened around her middle and she felt someone’s breath on the exposed skin of her neck. “Daisy, my Daisy.”

There was only one boy who called her that.

She spun around to face him. She was so close to him she could see the faint random freckles across his nose and cheekbones. His hair was disorderly, as it always was: a piece fell across his brows, and his warm gold eyes moved across her face as if she were a painting, studying each individual line and stroke and shape that made up the whole picture. 

“James.”

A sharp pain lanced through her ribcage, stealing her breath, as she fell limp against him. It was only then that she noticed a great shadow had stretched across the ballroom stealing away the warmth and the light.

James head bent until his forehead pressed against her own. “When you become grass and spring, I’ll become a flower and sit next to you.”

The shadow inched closer to them until they were a pinpoint in the center of the room. Her hands clung to the fabric of his shirt until her knuckles became white as she drew herself up so their noses were aligned. They recited the last line together. “When you become a flower and sit next to me, I’ll become a nightingale and sing for you.”

A feeling like the floor dropping out from her feet pulled Cordelia away as she was ripped from James once more.

It was dark, that much Cordelia could tell, and it was cold. So cold the tips of her fingers ached. She was flat on her stomach, laying on something hard- stone possibly— that chilled her to her core. A dull, but intensifying pain, ached on the right side of her ribcage with every breath that she took. It was also the only part of her that felt enflamed with heat. Her lungs felt too full, the air scratched against the back of her throat as though she’d inhaled a mouth full of soot. She tried to cough, but nearly cried out from the pain in her ribcage. 

Moving didn’t seem like a viable option, but neither did lying still. She tried to walk carefully through her memories to figure out where she might be. The last thing she remembered was James. He held her so tight; he was so warm and then everything was so cold again. She had said goodbye to James. Then Alastair— she’d been in a carriage with Alastair. The memory of him lying, bleeding in the street made her cringe. She had to find him—to get her stele and get to him.

Her arms shook as she pushed herself to her feet; her teeth clenched so tightly they might crack from the pressure. The pain was agonizing, spotting her vision with white dots; it was only then that she noticed the ground beneath her hands turned to fine powder and disappeared in a gust of wind.

She had been here before, that much she was sure of. The smell of acidic rot and decaying flesh was difficult to forget. Everything around her was orange and hazy like being surrounded by a blazing fire, but without the heat. 

“Welcome back,” said a clear, deep voice that rang through her like the bass of thunder. 

Cordelia stilled, bent awkwardly on her hands and knees. She looked up in the direction the voice had come from. 

He was dressed much the same as the last time she’d seen him, in an all white tailored suit complete with black buttons that glistened like eyes- perhaps they were eyes. His pale gray hair swept across his face; in much the same way as James’, but she would not allow herself to think about that. 

“Didn’t I stab you?” asked Cordelia. 

Belial moved towards her, the tails of his coat flapping in the desert-like wind. “I faintly remember something about that, yes.”  
“If at once one doesn’t succeed, one must try again.” Cordelia reached for Cortana with the arm on her uninjured side, but found that her hand closed around empty air where the hilt should be. 

Belial smiled mockingly.

“Where is Cortana?”

“Where it fell,” said Belial. “You see I don’t often make mistakes, but on the rare occasion that I do, I am sure not to make the same one again.”

Cordelia’s head dropped and she looked at her hands. The knuckles on her right hand were bleeding; the pinky on her left hand was angry, swollen, and bend out of place at the joint. Dried blood encased her arms from her elbows to her wrists. There was pain everywhere, enough to swallow anyone whole, but still she tucked her legs underneath herself and sat up with her hands resting on her thighs, as if she were presenting him with an offering. 

The last time she’d been in the shadow realm, she had been with James. They had held each other, defended one another, and barely managed to escape with their lives. Self-preservation hadn’t been a thought in her mind, as if James and herself were one entity, there was none without the other. Now, alone, self-preservation rang through her blood- Shadowhunter blood- every sense awakened and alert; desperate for a fight or an escape.

“What is it that you want from me?” asked Cordelia, the words shook on her lips.

Belial chucked, it echoed around them. “Nothing from you.”

“James.” Cordelia caught her breath and gripped her ribcage. When she looked down at her hand again it was covered in blood. There was a hole in her dress, just underneath her breast, the whole front of her was covered in a dark stain. “He won’t come. He thinks I’m in Idris with my—Alastair. What have you done with Alastair?”

“Consider him a calling card,” he said. “He was wounded quite gravely, but left with enough breath to relay a message as soon as your friends find him. It’s been extremely difficult to capture the attention of either of my grandchildren especially while I… healed, but after some careful observations, I believe I have exactly what will capture their attention.”

Cordelia’s hands clenched around the fabric of her dress, still damp from the rain. “He won’t come.”

“You don’t think so?” Belial raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you’re right, but no matter, he is not the one that I require.”

Cordelia looked up again. Belial’s face hadn’t changed. It remained expressionless with the stoic passivity of a graveyard statue. “Who— who else would you—“ The thought dawned on her like a punch to the stomach. “Lucie.”

“Very good. I was afraid you were only bronze and no brain,” said Belial. He waved a hand in the air, and for a moment, Cordelia caught the faint outline of an automobile speeding down a London street. The two passengers in the front seemed to be squabbling with one another, a much larger figure sat in-between them with his neck bent awkwardly so his head wouldn’t burst through the top of the cab. Three more figures sat side-by-side in the back, one of them was Lucie. The picture focused on her face, gazing out the window, her body present but her mind lost in thought. “My granddaughter. It’s true, I overlooked her at first, believing James to be the true vessel because of his connection with the shadow realm, but that is until it came to my attention that my granddaughter holds the power to summon the dead. While I did prefer a male form, James is merely an adolescent traveler, jumping from realm to realm as if on holiday.”

The burning intensified in Cordelia’s chest. She could feel sweat drip down her spine despite the chill. 

“Lucie?” Cordelia nearly laughed. Sweet, unassuming Lucie— with ink stains on her fingers and her mind constantly in the pages of her stories— with the ability to summon the dead. “You must be mistaken. If Lucie had the ability to summon the dead, I’m sure that I would know about it. I am her— best friend.”

“Didn’t you just abandon her to go home to Idris?” His lips curled. 

Cordelia shook her head. “No, I—“ She caught her breath and nearly bent over from the pain. “No, I wanted to spare her the humiliation of being seen with me after I—“ She raised herself up again. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“No, I’d much prefer it if you didn’t actually,” said Belial, examining his shoes as if they held more interest to him than the entirety of the conversation. 

“If what you’re saying is true,” said Cordelia, a shudder went through her whole body as the pieces started to come together in her mind. Her mouth became impossibly dry. “Then Lucie would—“

“Be able to summon an army of the undead,” said Belial, as if it were a completely normal thing to do like walking. “A truly wonderful thing about dead people is that you can’t kill them… again. They’ll be unstoppable in destroying your realm: killing, pillaging, destroying, so that I can come and claim it as my own.”

Cordelia let out a deep breath. “Just once I would like for a villain to come up with a less egregious plan than world domination. However, considering who you are— thief of realms and all— this is rather right on character.”

Belial spread his arms out to his sides and bowed at the waist.

“Lucie won’t do it,” said Cordelia, oddly calm. It was one thing she was absolutely sure of. 

“Do you not think so?” Belial squatted down in front of her, still feet away as though she were a wild animal that might attack him at any moment. He was smart— she would. “I didn’t think so either. Not willingly, not unless I had something of great importance to her.” His eyes narrowed. “I tried to capture James but he had more wards around him due to my last attempt. I thought my dear daughter, Tessa, but Tessa seems like the explosive type. Unreasonable, like she might throw herself onto a blade before being used. Then there was her father, William, well I’ll just admit I feared I’d be decapitated before Lucie had a chance to join us.” He cleared his throat. “Her other friends, while they hold great importance to her and would have done the trick, there was the little dilemma of you and that blade. It seemed you were the most logical choice.

“You did make it quite difficult for me,” said Belial. “Always following James around like a loyal dog. I had to think of some way to separate the two of you. That’s where the Blackthorn girl came into play.”

“Grace,” said Cordelia. “Are you controlling, Grace?”

“Not directly,” purred Belial, “but I am not without my connections. You see, I promised the Blackthorn’s to raise their beloved Jesse if they served me. After that, they were like clay in my hands.

“When I found out the Blackthorn girl already had James under a binding spell, it all became rather easy.” Belial laughed. “He went to her like a drunk goes to ale.”

Cordelia swayed slightly and fell to her hip, her arm outstretched to catch her. Tears burned her eyes with rage. How could she know nothing of Lucie’s power; nothing of Grace’s spell on James. It seemed perhaps Belial was right about one thing. Perhaps she didn’t know her dear friends at all.

Belial’s eyes danced and flickered over her, taking in her expression, her resolve, her bleeding waist. 

“Don’t die yet Miss Carstairs.” Belial turned his back to her and crossed his arms. His eyes took to the darkened sky as if waiting for something to fall from it. “There is still a need for you.”


	6. Of Friends and Lovers

James patted Balios’ neck as he asked the horse to drop from a steady canter to a slow walk up the cobblestone path of his aunt Cecily and Gabriel’s manor. Steady drops of rain splattered on his shoulders as the thick clouds in the sky threatened to open up above him. The night was newly dark with echoes of blue still present in the west where the sun had just set. Witch light burned in the windows at the face of the manor offering the only light to the cloud covered night. James looked up at the last window on the left glowing white and caught eyes with the shadow sitting on the seat below the window sill. His chest constricted and his breath caught in his throat as he felt the all too familiar invisible string pull taut in his center.

Grace.

Before he could dismount Balios, his earlier intentions for confronting Grace about his feeling for Cordelia were long forgotten and his body felt as if it were being pulled towards the window without his control. His boots crunched on the gravel as he ran past the front of the manor, abandoning the horse to eat from the perfectly manicured lawns.

James had grown quite skilled in ascending the ivy trellis due to the hundreds of times he and Matthew had done it to kidnap Christopher after his father banished him to his room after an accident involving one of Christopher’s experiments and something irreplaceable in the house.

It seemed Grace had been expecting him. The window was cracked open slightly. James was instantly assaulted with the smell of her: sweet vanilla, warm bergamot, and pear. It wrapped around him and nearly made his grip loosen from the windowsill. With a quick shake of his head, disheveling his hair further, he hooked his foot in the windowsill and pulled himself the rest of the way through landing flat on his back on the floor and staring up at the crown molding of Grace’s newly reformed bedroom.

“My knight.” A soft, sweet lilt came from his right. He turned his head to find Grace sitting on top of her thick silk embroidered comforter, stroking her loose, glossy, blonde hair with a tarnished silver handled hairbrush that she handled like a fine weapon. Her silver eyes held all the amusement of a judgmental cat.

James let out a gust of air he’d been holding in his chest. A smile broke across his face as he rolled back up to his feet. Once steady, he readjusted his vest around his waist and brushed his nervous hands on his trousers.

“You shouldn’t be here,” said Grace, and set the brush on her bed.

“I know.” Much to his dismay, his voice cracked. Quickly, he cleared his throat and took a hesitant step towards her. “Yet, you don’t seem surprised to see me.”

“I’m not.” She blinked slowly. “In fact, I’m glad you came.”

His eyebrows bounced. “You are?”

“Yes.” She stood and her light blue tea gown flowed down and gently skimmed the ground. The straps over her shoulders were slightly too big, sliding off her shoulders to expose her bare shoulders, her skin the color of flour and just as soft. James forced himself to stare at the cupid’s bow of Grace’s top lip; unfortunately, that wasn’t helping him.

“There is something I have been meaning to speak to you about.” She looked down at her hands. “I believe it might be the same reason that you are here as well.”

I’m here for you, he thought. To be with you.

“I’m to be married soon and you to Cordelia,” said Grace as she turned her shoulder to him and walked towards the fireplace burning low behind its gate. “I think its best if we don’t meet like this anymore. It’s not proper and think of the scandal if anyone were to find out.”

James didn’t care about the scandal. He had only one thought in his mind. “Why are you marrying him?”

“Why are you marrying her?”

James grimaced. “Cordelia and I, we’re only friends. I’ve told you that. She helped me, provided me with an alibi after I burned down… well, you know, and I felt I owed her a favor to keep her from ruin.”

“Is that really all?” Grace looked back at him and his chest ached at her expression. “It’s only I’ve seen the way that you look at her and the way she looks at you. It’s lovely. You seem happy with her.”

“It’s not real.” James took a step towards Grace, but stopped. “My heart is yours. It’s always been yours.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as if something pained her.

“Grace?” He reached for her, wrapping his hands around her arms, but just as soon as he did, she pulled free from him.

“Please don’t say that.” She moved away again. It seemed she was always retreating in some way or another. “I don’t want you to say that.”

“But it’s true.”

“It’s not.” Grace took a deep breath and wound her arms around herself. “It’s never been true. James there is something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Whatever it is, Grace.” James took a solitary step towards her. “You can tell me. It won’t change the way that I feel about you. Nothing will.”

“Will you do something for me first?” Grace asked, but her eyes remained cast down at her feet, as if she were ashamed of something.

“Anything.”

She hesitated a moment longer and he thought he might burst from anticipation. “Will you kiss me?” She didn’t look at him when she asked. If James was being honest, she almost looked angry.

But she was asking him to kiss her—here in her bedroom— something she hadn’t done in a long time. But there was a feeling deep in his gut, muted by his desire to kiss her, but telling him that this wasn’t right.

“Is that what you want?” James asked and moved towards her.

She nodded and turned so they were facing each other.

James pulled her arms away from where they were wound around her waist and let his fingers slid up her arms as he placed her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes were locked on where his shirt collar was undone and left open exposing more of his throat. He placed his hands on either side of her face, gently lifting her face with his thumbs underneath her chin.

She closed her eyes and lifted her face to him, waiting.

The corner of James’ mouth lifted slightly and he slowly lowered his mouth to capture hers.

He had forgotten how much smaller she was than him. He had to bend his knees to meet her mouth. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and for a moment as their mouths touched he remembered rich brown eyes looking up at him with admiration, silky tendrils of auburn hair, supple lips that moved hungrily across his, soft curves that arched into his hands as they explored. A maddening, all encompassing desire that nearly shattered all of his restraints at simply holding Cordelia in his arms. 

Stop this, he told himself, and oddly, he saw Cordelia in his mind, felt her hand on his arm, pulling at him. Stop.

He had been too late— the door to Grace’s bedroom had been flung wide, and Lucie stood on the threshold. Beside him was Cordelia, elegant in a champagne gown and matching jacket, looking from James to Grace with wide, surprised eyes. And just as quickly as they had appeared, Cordelia reached forward and pulled the door closed again.

Grace slid away from him. “I’m sorry,” she said and covered her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

James hadn’t really heard her. He’d raced forward and opened the door only to find Lucie staring up at him. Her face flushed and outraged. He shouldered past his sister towards the stairs.

He caught Cordelia at the landing and pulled her to a stop.

“Cordelia,” he begged. “Please, let me explain.”

Cordelia blinked. “You promised.” Her voice broke as she looked up at him. “‘When I make a promise, I keep it’ that’s what you told me. But you broke your promise, James.”

He let go of her as if she had burnt him and stepped aside as she ran towards the doors and disappeared into the night just as the storm began.

* * *

James stared down at the bracelet around his wrist, twisting and turning it until his skin underneath had turned red from the friction. Will and Tessa had left with Magnus to contact the Silent Brothers in hope that they might have some idea to assist them in the removal of the bracelet. There was also the concern of an unpredictable, unstable, and possibly dangerous Grace Blackthorn living with Cecily and Gabriel that they felt should be addressed immediately. With Lucie off despondent in the kitchen, Matthew and James found themselves alone in the library.

“It’ll be off soon,” said Matthew and clapped a hand on James’ shoulder. “And then you can write to Cordelia and beg her for forgiveness. I’ll help you write it myself.”

James looked down at the bracelet, his expression impassive.

Matthew, trained to be in-tune with his parabatai’s emotions, felt James' turmoil as if it were his own. “That is only if you wish for her forgiveness.”

James moved out from underneath Matthew’s hand and sauntered over to the fireplace. His right hand still encircled the bracelet. “Of course I do, but…”

“But what?” Matthew asked. “If you so much as utter the name Grace, I will strike you with your own hand. Are you bloody daft? She manacled you, she put you under a spell for the past five years, you can’t seriously be considering—“

“I’m not,” said James, “but I still feel this unwavering need to speak with her. To let her explain herself.”

“That’s just the bracelet talking,” said Matthew.

“Maybe, but that’s just it, I don’t know what is real anymore Matthew and I owe it to Cordelia to be one hundred percent sure of my affections before I impose upon her life again.”

The memory of her standing in the doorway after walking in on him and Grace felt like an assault to his chest by a blunt object. He’d wanted to run after her. He could see himself doing it, chasing her out into the rain, climbing into the carriage with her so she would be forced to talk to him, forced to let him beg for forgiveness. He wanted to do it, but Grace.

“You two aren’t still quarreling are you?” Anna asked as she kicked open the door with the heel of her thick boot and sauntered into the library leading an exasperated Thomas and Christopher with the right lens of his glasses broken… again.

Anna picked up Church from the chair in front of the fire and curled him up in her arms like an infant. “Is this about Cordelia and Alastair leaving?”

James and Matthew didn’t look at one another.

“We’re not quarreling,” said Matthew with an obvious clip in his tone, “but if we were it’d have nothing to do with Alastair.”

“What’s the plan?” asked Anna. “How are we going to bring Cordelia back?”

“What can we do?” Matthew shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “Their carriage is probably halfway across town by now and there is no convincing them to stay.”

“Do calm down Matthew.” Anna waved her hand at the drink tray. “Make yourself a drink.”

“I can’t. I’m off it. Clean. A proper rung out cloth.” He dropped into one of the wingback chairs and let his head hang back to look at the ceiling.

“Bravo,” Anna chided as she scratched under Church’s chin. “What an awful time to attempt sobriety, but still, bravo.”

“What are you all doing here?” James asked.

“I sent word to them when Lucie and I arrived,” said Matthew lazily. “I figured if anyone could figure out the inner workings of that bracelet it would be Kit. Also, on the unlikely occurrence that you die from removing it, I thought you might like it if we were all together one last time.”

James scowled. “How thoughtful.”

“Turns out we know nothing,” said Thomas from where he leaned against the library desk.

“I’ve looked through every book on charmed bracelets,” said Christopher while adjusting the bent wire in his glasses. “I managed to find something on how to charm a bracelet, but I don’t think you want to hear about how that’s done.”

Both Thomas and Christopher grimaced; purposefully avoiding eye contact with James.

“And we wanted to check on Lucie,” Anna added. “Where is she?”

At the same time Matthew and James said, “Kitchen.” The door to the library burst open, catching the surprise of all of the inhabitants including Church, as Lucie appeared, half of her dress soaked and her face flushed.

“It’s Cordelia.” Lucie shouted, her hand gripped the wall to keep her stable. “She’s been attacked.”

A spark of pain traveled up his arm, like dipping his hand in ice cold water. He looked down just as a flash of silver spun through the air and hit the stone flooring and the toe of his boot. He stared down at the bracelet on the floor, waiting for a shock of pain or an anvil to fall from the sky, but nothing happened.

No one else seemed to notice. Matthew was out of the chair in an instant, running to meet Lucie, Thomas and Christopher behind him. Anna set Church back on his feet to follow.

“What do you mean Cordelia’s been attacked?” Matthew asked.

“How do you know this Lucie?” Anna followed.

“I—“ Lucie shook her head. “That doesn’t matter now. She has. We need to leave as soon as possible. How did you lot get here?”

“Carriage,” said Christopher, “But I’m afraid your father and Magnus took it to pay Brother Zachariah a visit and your mother took the other carriage to go speak to my mother and Grace.”

The name startled him a bit, but nowhere near the shutter that used to envelope his body upon hearing those syllables uttered. Now, the only name that went through his head was Cordelia.

Cordelia was in trouble.

Cordelia was attacked.

James bent down and picked up the bracelet, holding it delicately between his fingertips. He felt a chill, dull ache in his chest, just below his rib cage. Nothing terrible, more like the feeling after you eat something bad or had too much whiskey and wake up with no memory of the night before. He looked down at his hand again, it was red where the metal had skimmed his skin, but otherwise, he was unharmed.

He felt… normal.

“We’ll take Matthew's car,” said James and stuffed the bracelet in his trouser pocket. “Lucie stay here and wait for Mam and Papa to come back and tell them what happened.”

“No!” Lucie barked. “I won’t. I’m coming with you.”

“You’ll need to get changed into gear and there’s not enough time,” said James, grabbing his coat from the back of the winged back chair. “Matthew, do you have weapons in your car?”

Matthew grimaced. “Does a tire iron count as a weapon?”

“You don’t carry weapons with you?” asked Thomas.

Matthew’s shoulders rose to his ears. “Where would I store them? Would you like me to strap them to the ceiling? Perhaps the undercarriage? Store them in the engine? It’s an automobile, Thomas, not a trunk. And how would I explain them to the authorities if I’m inspected? Heavens.”

“Perfect,” said Lucie. “You lot go gather the weapons and I’ll go get changed. We’ll meet back at Matthew’s car. Anna, would you mind assisting me?”

“Lucie—“ James reached for his sister but before he could stop her she was out the door with Anna behind her. A headache pinched behind his eyelids.

“Come on,” said Matthew. “There is no sense in trying to stop her.”

With that, the four of them left the library towards the weapons room.

* * *

They all met at Matthew’s car where he’d parked it half on the lawn and half on the brick driveway. James felt heavier with the weight of his throwing knives tucked into the gear vest that was strapped tightly across his chest. The burn of a fresh strength, speed, and agility rune stung underneath his skin: one on the inside of his arm, one on his shoulder blade, and another on his left hip. He felt the effect of them almost the instant Matthew applied them with his stele.

While Christopher contemplated taking a machete or a saber with him, Thomas applied Christopher’s runes. James climbed into the passenger seat of Matthew’s car and put his boot up the straight dashboard to tuck another knife into the lip of his boot.

Matthew glared beside him. “Can you please remove your shoe from Algernon?”

“Algernon?” James dropped his foot back to the floor. “As in Algernon—“

“Moncrieff,” said Matthew. “As in Algernon Moncrieff, the charming, decorative, idle bachelor of Oscar Wilde’s wildly popular play The Importance of Being Earnest.” He reached across James and wiped the dashboard with the fabric of his forearm. “You’ve scuffed him."

“Does this thing run properly?” James asked, eyeing the exposed engine covered in black dust and dripping oil.

“It runs splendidly,” said Matthew as he stroked the wheel. “My father helped me fix it.”

“Somehow that’s not reassuring.” James eyed Thomas and Christopher as they finished fixing their gear. 

Matthew ignored James’ gib and continued to stroke the wheel. “One day you won’t need to be a secret, my sweet, one day we will drive in freedom without the disapproval of the Clave.”

“From the Clave?” said Anna from behind them. “From the public more likely.”

Anna stood beside Lucie, both dressed in black women’s fighting gear, which didn’t look altogether different from men’s except theirs tailored to their specific curves, complete with straps and buckles across the chest and around each thigh for weapons. Each had on a long waist coat that had a spit tail that ran down the back of their legs. Lucie’s hair was twisted back in a long braid that hung over her shoulder.

It was odd seeing her there without Cordelia. How familiar James’ had grown to finding them both together and now that they were apart it was like an incomplete painting. A sky with no ground. A tree with no branches. A lake with no water. A sharp pang hit him between his eyes again. He hissed and pinched the bridge of his nose when something caught his eyes. He drew his arm away and saw a faint green ring around his wrist where the bracelet had been. He pulled the sleeve of his gear down and retrieved his glove from his pocket and promptly slid them on before anyone could notice.

“Don’t listen to her, Algernon,” said Matthew. “She’s a woman of poor taste and even worse manners.”

“Don’t you forget it,” said Anna and slid into the back row of the car.

“We should really be going,” said Lucie. “There isn’t much time.”

Matthew pressed down on one of the peddles at his feet and turned the key in the ignition. The car rumbled to life as Christopher slid in-between Lucie and Anna and Thomas between James and Matthew.

All of them let out a chorus of groans except Matthew who smiled happily to himself as he examined the gages.

“What is that smell?”

Matthew adjusted his driving gloves and pulled down his goggles to shield his eyes. “The fumes of freedom.”

The engine rattled as he adjusted the gear and suddenly they were off.


	7. Tragic

At some point, she wasn’t sure when, Cordelia had laid down on the hard tempered ground. She stared up at the smoke colored sky and watched the clouds above her dance and swirl in airy shapes. The wound on her side had stopped hurting; all that was left was a dull ache, and a burning underneath her skin. She didn’t need to look down at her arms to see the black veins that crawled underneath her now ashen, skin. Her breathing had become labored, shallow, and her chest stretched as it tried to take its fill of the putrid air.  
There was still so much she needed to say. There was so much she wanted to do.

“There’s time for that.” Her mother would say to her. “Stop being in such a rush. There is time for all that.”

It seemed she was running out of time.

The once hot hair now left her feeling cold. Her eyelids felt heavy. All she wanted was to close them, just for a moment, but she forced herself to keep them open.

Tragic.  
She contemplated the word. Imagined it would be thrown around at her funeral— if she was to have one. If Belial was defeated and they managed to recover her body from this place, the word tragic would define the end of her life, as it did for so many Shadowhunters before her, all lives lost too early.

But that would not be what would make her death tragic. It would be because she died the same way she lived… alone.

The thought made her cry out and her hands gripped the sand that scratched beneath her skin.

It’s this place, she thought. It turns even your inner thoughts dark and dreadful.

She chased after images of people and things that she loved but even those left her feeling hollow and alone.

Then a memory came to her mind.

It was nothing grand or spectacular, a small moment actually. It was a week after she’d become engaged to James. Her mother had been dragging her to appointment after appointment claiming it would be ‘the wedding of the century’. The binding of a Herondale and a Carstairs. She’d grown weary and sick of dress appointments, cake shops, flowers, table clothes, and just craved some semblance of normal. She wanted to take Cortana in her hands, feel the bite of the metaled handle, hear the slight whistle as the blade arched through the air and slice the heads off the perfectly assorted flower arrangements in one clean sweep.

Most appointments, Cordelia had Lucie to keep her company, making the day a bit more bearable. But when Lucie had a previous engagement that she refused to tell Cordelia about James offered to come along to keep Cordelia company. 

He came to stand beside her in the center of an ostentatious ballroom that had a hand painted mural on the ceiling. Cordelia had her head all the way back staring at the image of Jonathon Shadowhunter, with great enormous white wings spread out from his back, charging after a group of mangy looking demon dogs. Their mothers were bent over a catalogue, conversing over decorations for the reception when she felt his shoulder brush against hers.

He leaned into her and his hair brushed her cheek. “Do you like ice cream?”

Thinking it was a joke, she laughed, but when she turned to look at him, his eyes blazed with mischief.

“Mother doesn’t allow me to have ice cream,” she said, and looked back up at the mural. “She says it will go right to my hips and rot my teeth.”

“Give me your shoes,” he said, suddenly urgent.

“What?”

He pressed his hand over her mouth and glanced at their mother’s. Tessa was leading Sona into the hall and went on about lining the floor in imported silks to cover the scuff marks in the wood.

“Give me your shoes,” he repeated. “They’ll make too much noise.”

A rush of excitement went through Cordelia as she reached down and slid her feet out of her pale pink heels and handed them to James.

He cradled them in-between his arm and his side and motioned for her to follow him.

“What are we doing?” She whispered once out of the hallway.

He grinned down at her; she felt her cheeks redden, as he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door.

Once out on the busy London street, he handed her back her shoes, and offered her his arm to hold while she slid them back on. He nodded at nosy pedestrians that looked at Cordelia curiously.

When she was situated, he grabbed her hand again and he was pulling her down the street. He weaved deftly around people, leapt over a dog on a leash, and skirted past solicitors while Cordelia muttered their apologies.

When he stopped, she nearly slammed into him. His cheeks were flushed, his crown of black hair curled away from his face, and a cheeky grin lifted one corner of his perfect mouth. She couldn’t remember a time when he looked more beautiful to her.

The smell of the shop was the first thing she noticed. A heavenly aroma of vanilla, spun sugar, chocolate, and creme. Her mouth instantly watered and her stomach groaned.

“I saw it on the carriage ride over.” He glanced over at her. “Do we dare?”

She was stalled by a moment of guilt.

He hopped up on the first step leading towards the glass door and noticed that she hadn’t followed.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“I really shouldn’t.” She groaned as the door opened again and a girl with blonde braids down her shoulders walked out with a cone dripping with the sweet desert. Her mouth watered, betraying her.

“Come on, Daisy.” James stepped back down so he was right in front of her. His mouth curved into a vexatious grin that left her warm and breathless. “Unless you prefer we go back to our mothers and talk about seating arrangements.”

She grabbed his hand this time and led him up the stairs to the door.

After they chose their ice cream, James picked a raspberry swirl in a cone and Cordelia chose chocolate, they walked across the bustling street to the small lake with a trail around it and settled into a leisurely stroll beside one another.

He ate his ice cream quickly and poked fun at her for eating hers slow when it dripped down her fingers. She taught him words in her native tongue and fought back laughter when he butchered the pronunciation. He told her stories about The Merry Thieves, and Lucie, and his parents. There was only one strange encounter with a duck where he switched to walk on the other side of her, so she was closest to the creature, and then switched back as if nothing had happened.

When she’d lost count of how many times they’d circled the pond, they stopped at a vacant bench underneath a tilting willow tree with branches that swayed and grazed the ground below it. 

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said and leaned to press a kiss to his cheek, but he’d moved his head slightly so her lips grazed the corner of his mouth instead.

Horrified, she’d begun to make her apologies, when he brushed a curl that had fallen into her face and secured it behind her ear, letting his fingers graze the shell of her ear before he cupped her jaw in his hand. “My Daisy, you require no one’s rescuing."

A lifetime of this, she thought painfully. I want a lifetime of this.  
“James?” She smiled to herself and the ache in her chest became something different. “James, can you hear me?”

For the longest time, she believed there were two versions of James that existed: hers and the other one. Her James caught her when she fell from carriages, rescued her from public scrutiny, kissed her on top of tables, and made her smile until it felt like her cheeks might pop. The other James abandoned her on dance floors, left her in mid-conversation, and was completely enraptured by someone else.

Would she ever learn who the real James was?

When Grace’s hold on him is finally removed, would his affections change? 

Would it be too late?

“James.”

She waited a moment on bated breath but nothing could be heard except for the sound of the wind rushing through her ears and her own heartbeat failing to pump what limited blood remained through her body.

“Not long now,” said Belial. She’d thought he’d left or perhaps he’d only just returned. He squatted down next to her. The tip of a dagger that hung at his side in a gilded scabbard nudged her thigh. His head loomed over hers blocking out the red sun. “They’re approaching. Soon this will all be over.”

She’d waited long enough for someone to come save her. It was well past time that she saved herself.

Her death would not be tragic.

No. It’d be heroic.

Her hands gripped the sand underneath her and with the last ounce of energy she had left, she flung her handful at his looming face. 

~

James.  
The car was tilting heavily to the left as Matthew took a turn at an alarming speed when James heard her voice inside of his head. He straightened himself and leaned forward trying to listen over the sounds of grumblings from the people around him, but nothing else came. He thought for a moment that he smelt vanilla and tasted raspberry on his tongue.

The headache behind his eyes was present, but not getting any worse. He didn’t chance a look at his wrist with Thomas sitting so close beside him and Lucie looming over his shoulder. He thought about putting the bracelet back on, just to stop any damage that might be occurring because of his impulsive decision. But now that he was free of it, the last thing he wanted was to put it back on. In fact, he thought constantly of throwing the bloody thing into the street and being rid of it forever.

His mind felt clear for the first time in a long time. For so long his thoughts had been hazy, unfocus, reverting back to Grace as if they were tied to her name by an invisible string and being flung back to her whenever they would wander too far.

How did he not see it?

How could he not know?

“Can this thing not go any faster?” asked Lucie, who was half on top of a scandalized Christopher in the back seat.

“There are no runes to hide automobiles,” said Matthew jerked the gear shift. “As long as Mundanes can see us, I have to abide by Mundane rules.”

“It’s dark outside.” Anna pointed out. “There is no one out to spot us. Just admit that this piece of rubbish doesn’t go any faster.”

“Thomas, I cannot think of an equally demoralizing response and drive at the same time,” said Matthew over his shoulder. “Please proceed to make Anna cry with your words on my behalf.”

“No.”

James had only just noticed that Thomas knee had not stopped bouncing. His usually calm friend seemed as perturbed as he felt, but for what reason James didn’t know.

“STOP!” Lucie yelled over James’ shoulder.

The tires screeched and James was nearly thrown over the hood of the automobile and out into the street if not for Thomas’ arms outstretched across both he and Matthew. The three occupants in the back hit the first row hard jolting them forward.

A chorus of curses filled the automobile, followed by an explosion of air and steam from the hood of the car.

“Algernon.” Matthew whimpered.

When James looked up, a wall of thick gray fog stood just inches away from the car. He leaned out the door to see the edge of it lapping against the pavement like the shore of a lake but never moving any farther. His eyes followed it up into the sky merging with the clouds that still lingered there.

Lucie jumped from the backseat and ran past James.

He was out of the car in a moment, following after her, as she disappeared into the thick of it without hesitation.

“Lucie!” He stepped in after her. The air crackled around James. His runes sang underneath his skin as if aware of something his mind wasn’t yet aware of. The smell of stale ale, sulfur, and blood clung to his nostrils. “Lucie!”

“James?” He heard her on his left.

“Lucie!” The air clung to his skin, cold yet humid. He waved his hand out in front of his face in an attempt to clear it. “Can you hear me? Come back.”

“James?” He could hear the fear rising in her voice. She sounded farther away than before.

“Stop moving!” He yelled. “Just wait for me where you are. Keep talking.”

He ran in the direction he’d heard her voice, but he couldn’t see even an inch in front of him. It was like swimming with your eyes closed, unsure of which way is up and down.

“James!” Matthew called from behind him. “What’s going on in there?”

“Stay together,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Hold hands or tie yourself to something.”

“What do you see?” Thomas asked.

“Nothing,” said James. “I can’t see anything. Lucie!”

“James!”

It came from behind him now, only feet away. He ran in the direction and thought that he saw a figure taking shape in front of him. He exploded into a run and like a picture behind changed on a projector, he stepped out and was in front of the car again.

Matthew was tying himself to the car with a long rope. Thomas looked restless, muttering something to himself, while Christopher poked his finger in and out of the fog curiously. Anna was the first to see James.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

James' heart rate leapt in his chest as he turned back around to face the fog. “Lucie.” He pushed back in and ran forward in the direction he’d first seen her go in.

“LUCIE!”

No response.

The fog burned his lungs as his breathing quickened. Every muscle in his body felt taut. She couldn’t be gone. She had to be here, somewhere. He’d find her. He had to.

“Lucie, answer me!”

“James!” Her soft clear voice rang from behind him again.

He spun around and ran towards her voice. Not even ten steps and he popped out of the fog again to meet the others.

“No.” He exhaled and dragged his hands through his damp hair. 

A hand clamped down on his shoulder preventing him from taking another step forward.

He spun around to shove whoever it was off, but Matthew stepped away before he could.

“Stop and think for a moment.” Matthew shouted and grabbed James by the shirt. “We’re not going to get anywhere if you keep running in there blind. We need a strategy, a plan!”

“James,” said Anna from the car. “Matthew.”

But James was too busy fighting Matthew off to notice her. “Lucie is in there.”

“I know that!” said Matthew. “I’ve been listening to you call her name for the past ten minutes. Now calm down and think.”

“James!” Anna shouted. “Matthew, look!”

When he turned back around, the fog had begun to clear as if it were being physically sucked away. The street was empty, the cobblestone path glistened with condensation, and lying in the middle of it was a body.


	8. The Powers That Be

James stood frozen in the street. His hands still clenched around Matthew’s waist coat; his neck strained from looking over his shoulder at where Anna had pointed to.

A body lay in the street.

James found himself unable to speak, to move, to operate past filling and releasing his lungs in short bursts. He could hear his name being called as if through a thick wall.

Is it Lucie? The question lingered on his tongue, but he could not bring himself to ask it.

He didn’t want to know the answer.

Thomas was the first of them to move. Carefully at first, waving his arm in the air to make sure the fog wasn’t concealing something more, and then he broke into a run and slid to his knees beside the body.

After a breathless moment, he turned his head to the rest of them and said, “It’s Alastair. Come quick, it’s Alastair.”

James released Matthew and felt life swell inside of him again like the first hit of hot hair in a balloon, but his relief was quickly replaced by another fear. If Alastair Carstairs was the body in the street, then where was Lucie. Where was his sister?

~*~

The moment the sand left Cordelia’s hand, Belial stumbled backwards with a cry, giving Cordelia enough time to reach forward and pull the knife from his scabbard. She flipped it deftly in her palm and pushed herself precariously to her feet. With malice in her eyes, despite the pain that coursed through her ribs at the discordant movement, she held the knife out in front her towards Belial posed to strike with everything she had left inside of her.

It wasn’t Cortana, but it would have to do.

She caught a glimpse of her arms, and saw the black veins that coursed underneath her skin, but she didn’t have a moment to care for that now. If she was going to stop him from using Lucie, and she intended to do just that, she’d better do it quickly.

Belial scrapped the sand from his eyes; his back turned towards her. A strange noise came from his throat. It took Cordelia a moment to realize that it was laughter.

When he turned back around his face was orange from the sand. He spit a glob of tinted saliva down at her feet and grinned wickedly as he took in the knife that she had acquired from him.

A cough ripped out of Cordelia. She felt something hot burn up her throat as she wretched into the crook of her elbow. When she looked down, black liquid stained the ripped fabric of her dress sleeve. She didn’t look on it for too long before she straightened again and forced her aching body back to her feet, all while closely watching Belial.

A light breeze could knock her over, but she widened her stance in an attempt to gain balance. The shake in her legs did not go unnoticed by Belial.

“What do you mean to accomplish, Miss Carstairs?” Belial dropped his hands to his sides. “Do you intend to fight your way out of this, as you did before? When you can barely stand on your own two feet.”

“I had a broken leg the last time I drove a sword through your chest.” She grimaced, as a painful wave went up her torso. “I am no stranger to pain.”

Belial tilted his head back. “A true fighter. You might do well in my new world. Perhaps I’ll keep you as a pet for my granddaughter, to keep her in line.” She thrashed the knife when he stepped towards her and nearly cried out from the pain of the movement. “You cannot hurt me, child. You are only making things worse for yourself.”

“You cannot have Lucie,” said Cordelia, stepped back once as Belial stepped forward. Her teeth ached from clenching them together. She focused on that pain instead of the one at her side. “I don’t care how many times I have to drive my blade through you, you will not take my friend.”

Belial tilted his head. “You cannot kill me, Miss Carstairs. No mere mortal can, not in this form, and not with that stick. ” He glanced over his shoulder as a flash of bright light rippled through the smoke colored clouds. The air seemed to crackle with a new energy. Cordelia wasn’t sure, but it felt as if the ground trembled underneath her already unsteady legs.

With his back turned towards her now, Cordelia seized the opportunity and brought her arm back over her shoulder and threw the knife forward, hilt over tip, but as it was about to sink into Belial’s neck, the smooth pale skin of his hand shot up and gripped the blade, instantly turning the knife to ash.

Cordelia felt her mouth drop open. Her breath caught in her chest as she sank back to the ground.

Her last hope was now blowing away with the breeze.

“Cordelia!”

Belial face curved into a malevolent sneer. “Our company has arrived.”

Cordelia looked up as both an odd sense of relief and dread overcame her. Lucie, dressed in her black Shadowhunter gear, ran towards them, small but lethal. Her hair had come undone and whipped behind her in wild torrents before careening over her shoulder as she skidded to a stop inches from where Belial and Cordelia stood. In both her hands were perfectly sharpened daggers.

Lucie’s rage filled eyes softened when they fell on Cordelia. “Are you all right? Are you injured?”

Cordelia removed the hand that clung to her ribs and saw the fresh blood on her palm. “I’m injured, but I’m all right. Lucie, you should not have come.”

“Of course I should have,” said Lucie and her eyes narrowed on Cordelia’s bloody hand. “You’re bleeding. How bad is it? Did he do this to you?”

She rushed forward, just as Belial cleared his throat and stepped in-between the path separating Cordelia and Lucie. “Granddaughter. How lovely to finally meet you.”

“You’ll forgive me for forgetting myself, but I cannot repeat the sentiment,” said Lucie, planting her hands on her hips. “What do you prefer to be called? I refuse to call you grandfather, as that implies some familial affection, which for you I harbor none, so what will it be? Belial? Lord of Lies? Whacking disappointment? You choose.”

Belial’s hands flexed at his sides. “I suppose Belial will do.”

“Excellent,” Lucie shifted her stance. “Belial, let Cordelia go. You have what you wanted. I’m here. Your need for her is over.”

“Happily, dear granddaughter,” Belial glanced over his shoulder at Cordelia. “Nothing would bring me more joy than releasing Miss Carstairs back to earth. However, I feel the need to keep her as insurance.”

“Insurance?” Lucie prickled. “What does Cordelia insure?”

“Your cooperation.”

Cordelia coughed again and sank farther towards the ground. More black ichor burned up her throat as the demonic poison raged war against her blood stream. Sweat poured from her brow as she lifted her head, defiant against leaving Lucie alone with this monster.

Lucie’s eyes met Cordelia’s exposing the first hint of fear. “My cooperation?”

“Yes,” hissed Belial, as he started walking in a leisurely circle around Lucie. “It’s recently come to my attention that you possess a power far greater than any of my offspring.”

“Are there others?” Lucie scoffed. “I was not aware. You must clean up well if women are willingly throwing themselves at you.”

Belial paused. “Who said anything about willingly.”

A visible shudder went through Lucie. “What is it that you want?”

Belial continued to walk, his hands clasped behind his back. Something about the way he tilted his head back to look at the sky reminded her again of James. Not so much in appearance anymore, but more in the gestures; the way he held himself.

“At this point, you have only barely grazed the ability of your power.”

“Power?” Lucie glanced back at Cordelia. “What power? I think you are mistaking me for my brother. I am completely ordinary.”

“I’m quite sure I have the right offspring,” said Belial, his eyes wandered over Lucie in a way that was entirely too possessive.``Your mother has the ability to shape shift, your brother the ability to jump transfer himself into other realms. You, I’ll admit, I overlooked you. I’d preferred to have a male, but that was before I became aware of your truly interesting gift.”

Lucie scoffed. “I wouldn’t consider it a gift.”

“Oh, but it is,” Belial stepped towards her again, only this time Lucie didn’t step back. “You have the ability to control the dead. Tell me, have you ever brought someone back to life?”

“No,” said Lucie. “I can only communicate with their ghosts.”

“Communicate?” asked Belial, as he continued to walk around in a leisurely circle around Lucie. “Or control?”

Lucie’s teeth skimmed her bottom lip. The first sign for Cordelia that confirmed what Belial had told her about Lucie was true. It was no secret, to anyone, that Tessa Gray was the daughter of a demon; therefore, it was no secret that James and Lucie were the grandchildren of one. They were both young children when Lucie told Cordelia about her grandfather; confided in her. Lucie could have told her that her hair was brown for all Cordelia cared.

So why, thought Cordelia, after all these years of friendship did Lucie never tell her about this power? Did she not trust her to keep the secret? Or that it would somehow change the way Cordelia felt about her?

Lucie shifted her stance. “Prefer a male for what?”

Belial blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You said a moment ago that you preferred to have a male… a male what?”

“A male host,” said Belial. “I want you to willingly let me take possession of your body so that you and I can fully access your abilities. You will help me raise an army and take possession of every realm.”

Lucie’s hands balled into fists. “No.”

“Then Miss Carstairs dies a miserable death,” said Belial. “She’s not far now.”

“Lucie don’t,” begged Cordelia. “He will kill me anyway!” Tears burned Cordelia’s eyes. “He will kill everyone— everyone we have ever loved and force them to join in his army in their death. Lucie, you must go. Run away from here and go home.”

“I’ll keep her alive,” said Belial. “For you, granddaughter, I will keep her alive.”

“Do not listen to him.” All she could feel was the exhaustion, the poison in her veins, waiting to rush back, moments away from claiming her. “Even if he did allow me to live, what kind of life would that be, Lucie? I would have no one. I would have nothing. Leave me and run back the way that you came. There should be a portal where you came through—“

Cordelia watched as Lucie looked over her shoulder in the direction she had come from. Her hair concealed her face as the wind started to rage around them, picking up the sand and ash, making it difficult to see. For a moment, Cordelia saw Lucie pick up her foot, and the same overwhelming sense of dread and relief consumed her.

Belial stood impossibly still, though she watched his fingers stretch as if he’d been burned.

“If you run—” he started, but Lucie cut him off. “I’m not running.” Lucie looked down at the dagger in her right hand. The same expression that would cross her face when she is stuck on a particular scene in one of her books crossed her face now.

Belial inhaled slowly. “You cannot kill me with that, Lucie. Ask Miss Carstairs, it won’t work.”

Cordelia wanted to stand, to fight beside Lucie, but she couldn’t rise: her body was shutting down. Shadows began to creep in at the edges of her vision. The smell of spices that reminded her of her home filled her lungs. She thought she could hear the sound of children laughing and music playing, a soft trickle of sound ushering her into the unknown.

Cordelia pulled her hand away from her ribs. The wounded was still bleeding freely, but her blood was no longer red, but black as ink. 

“I know that you understand only a fraction of the power that you possess.” He leaned towards Lucie. The wind raged harder around them. Sand burrowed into Cordelia’s skin, her eyes, her mouth, unable to shield herself from it as she lay limp as a corpse. Tornados of bones, trees, and sand funneled around them; she could see the strange patterns they made in the sky. “Together,” he said, his voice echoed with something demonic, “we can take claim of any realm we desire. Together we can raise one the greatest armies any world has ever seen.”

Lucie’s back was to Cordelia now. If she was able, she could reach across and grab her ankles.“You’re wrong,” said Lucie. “I understand my power perfectly and I will not let it be used by you.” Lucie spun on her heel and threw herself beside Cordelia, wrapping her arms as tightly as she could around her friend.

With her mouth inches from Cordelia’s ear, Lucie screamed. “Now Jesse!” 

Cordelia was overcome with the sensation of falling. She could hear yelling and something hot and sharp pinch the skin around her wrist as a face came to loom over hers.

“Don’t die Miss Carstairs,” Belial smirked. “There is still a need for you yet.”

“Cordelia!” Lucie’s voice was the last thing she heard as the darkness slowly enclosed her vision and they fell, like burning angels, towards the earth.


	9. Teenage Wasteland

A flash of light caught James’ eye from the witchlight he held in his hands. While everyone else ran to Thomas and Alastair, James stepped away and walked over to the rain gutter where a sword lay in the gathered water. A sword that James would recognize anywhere.

He picked up Cortana. A wave of fear washed over James. Wherever Cordelia was, she was without it. He could understand why Cordelia treasured it the way she did. It wasn’t just about birth right or ownership. The sword exuded strength and honor. A light blade, but perfectly balanced. She’d called it something else once, after she’d lost it in battle and James returned it to her. He couldn’t remember the words she had used in her native tongue, but he remembered it meant ‘mouse’. He’d meant to ask her why she’d named it after such a small, inconsequential creature, but his mind had been on other things and the question eluded him. When he returned it to her again, he’d remember to ask her.

James was the last one to reach Alastair. He came to stop behind Thomas who already had his stele out and was carving quick lines into the skin on Alastair’s arm. Anna had her ear down to Alastair’s mouth, her face twisted in concentration. When she sat up again, James saw how ashen Alastair had become.

Anna started pulling at Alastair’s clothes, searching for the injury that produced the halo of blood around his shoulders and torso. With the tip of her knife, she sliced the buttons clean off of his shirt and ripped it open. Dark bruising formed around both sides of his rib cage, but there was no injury or blood to be seen.

“Where is it all coming from?” Anna demanded. “Quick, Kit, help me flip him over.”

“Are we sure it’s safe to move him?” asked Christopher whose glasses had slid down to the edge of his nose. “What if it’s a spinal injury?”

“Matthew stabilize his head,” said Anna, as she and Christopher started to tilt Alastair onto his side.

“Wait,” shouted Matthew. He pulled his hands out from beneath Alastair’s neck. The witchlight that burned in the street beside him illuminated the blood covering Matthew’s hands. “I think I found the source.”

Thomas cursed and started drawing irates at a quicker pace onto the now exposed skin of Alastair’s chest. The rune would burn bright for a moment before disappearing into his skin like a flame being submerged underwater with nothing left after except a pale white scar.

“We need to get him to the institute,” said Anna. “He’s lost too much blood and only the Silent Brother’s can help a head injury. Matthew, Christopher, help Tom—“

Before she could finish her sentence, Thomas had lifted Alastair into his arms, holding him close against his chest despite Alastair’s wet clothing and the blood. As Thomas stood, Anna and Christopher stood with him.

“Has he said anything?” James finally asked as he turned to follow them towards the car. “Did he see Lucie?”

“He’s been unconscious,” said Anna and stopped to snap at Matthew. “Come on. We’ll need you to drive us back.”

“Who's going to stay with James?” asked Matthew, as he stood up from the street.

“It’s all right,” said James. “I’ll be fine. Take them back to the Institute and alert my parents that Lucie has gone missing and that I suspect it has something to do with Belial.”

Matthew nodded and moved to follow the rest, but quickly turned back around to James. “The Belial? The demon-grandfather-no-one-speaks-of—“

“Do you know of another?”

“Matthew!” Anna yelled from the automobile.

Christopher now hung over the engine and was half submerged in the contraption.

Matthew quickly turned back to James and pressed his witchlight into his hand. “If it truly is him, be sure to kill the bastard this time.”

James nodded and watched his parabatai run back towards the car just as Anna turned over the engine. A burst of steam escaped the motor, but it rumbled with the same life as it had before. James spoke a quiet prayer to the angel Raziel for Alastair. He’d known Shadowhunters to die from far less injuries than the ones Alastair had sustained and there was no saying how long he had been lying in the street alone.

As James looked down at the blood stain on the cobblestones, drifting in rivulets down the street towards the gutter, James felt his chest constrict. If they found Alastair in the state he was in, what condition would that leave Cordelia? Cordelia who fought her way out of Belial’s clutches and stabbed him in the chest. What should have been a devastating blow, and it was, but not enough to kill the demon. What sort of vengeful punishments would he do to her, not only because of what she did herself, but also because of James’ resistance.

James cursed. He should have known. What had he missed when he was investigating the different possibilities of who his grandfather could be? He’d spent countless hours in the library scouring over every piece of literature he could find on the princes of hell and while most authors spoke of the demons with almost admiration, as if the princes wrote their biographies themselves, not one article, not one page mentions how to properly kill a prince of hell.

While filled with uncertainty about many things, there was one thing that James knew for certain. Belial was merciless and he had Cordelia and possibly Lucie.

James looked to the sky and opened his hands out to his sides. The corners of the world were starting to turn a dark opaque blue with the rising sun as the stars began to disappear with the moon.

James raised his arms wider. “If it was my attention you wanted,” he said, quietly at first, “you have it. Let them go.”

An owl cooed from the roof of one of the buildings behind him, but otherwise, the world remained silent and still. But James could feel the presence of someone watching him, listening closely, unseen. There, but not there. Hidden behind a veil into another world. And he knew his audience.

“I’ll do anything you ask!” The words tore from James’ lungs. “Anything! Just let them go.”

Still no answer. No reply. Not even a chill underneath his skin.

“Belial!” James turned slowly in a circle. “You cannot have Lucie. You cannot have my sister, you bastard!”

Cortana rattled in James’ hand as a large flash of light and whip-like crack echoed in the silence of the empty street sending James a few steps backwards. He heard a thump and groan. He spun around to find a dark pile moving and shifting in the dull morning light.

James gripped Cortana in both hands and raised the blade to his shoulder as he slowly approached the intrusions when he saw the flash of crimson hair mixed with mousy brown curls.

“Cordelia.” A voice whimpered from the pile. “Cordelia, stay awake. You need to stay awake.”

“Lucie?” James slowly lowered Cortana.

Lucie looked over her shoulder at him. Her face was covered in soot and streaked with tears. James looked from her to Cordelia lying unconscious beneath his sister.

“James!” Lucie pushed herself unsteadily to her feet. “James where are the others? Where’s the car?”

James couldn’t tear his eyes away from Cordelia even as he answered Lucie’s questions. “Alastair is injured. They rushed him back to the Institute. Is she—?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question.

Lucie went back down to Cordelia. “She’s badly injured. I should have thought— all I could think about was getting her away from there and this was the last place I remember being. James, if we don’t get her back to the institute quickly, she will die. She will die and there will be no way to save her.”

James kneeled beside his sister and carefully lifted a limp, lifeless Cordelia into his arms. Her hair was tangled and covered in an orange sand. Dried black blood marked the corners of her mouth. Black veins ran underneath her skin. She was cold against him. The warmth that once radiated from her was waning like a flame consuming the last inch of a wick.

With her body held tight against his, he ran towards the carriage, grimacing at Cyril’s body lying cold in the street. He used his shoulder to push open the door wider and carefully carried Cordelia into the cab.

Lucie followed in after him and sat on the bench with Cordelia’s head in her lap.

James took a moment to brush a strand of hair away from Cordelia’s cheek before he looked back to Lucie. “Do you have a stele?”

She shook her head. James reached into his weapons belt and drew his own. He pressed it into Lucie’s palm. “Start drawing runes on her. Healing, blood replenishing, strengthening, all of them. Hold tight to her.”

Fresh tears streamed from Lucie’s eyes as determination set into her expression and she started drawing runes into Cordelia’s skin: on her palm, her forearm, her collarbone, and anywhere else she could reach.

Lucie caught his hand before he could leave. “Hurry James,” she sobbed. “She can’t die.”

“She won’t,” said James darkly.

James stepped out from the carriage and closed the door security behind him. He climbed up onto the driver's seat and took the reins with a quick snap against the rump of the already agitated horse. The carriage jolted as he pulled hard on the left rein, leading the horse in a wide circle and back onto the correct side of the road.

The sun had begun to rise in the east, but the beautiful dawn was lost on James as if it existed in some far-off place, some other morning where James was not barreling through London with Cordelia inches from death in the carriage. Someplace where Cordelia was not cold and quiet no matter how much James bargained for her life. If she would live, he would give up anything. If she could only live, he would marry her. And not just for a day, a month, a year, but for as long as breath entered his lungs and left his body. He would love her and love her well. If only she would live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lengthy Author’s Notes Warning: Hi everyone. I woke up this morning with an incredibly heavy heart. I contemplated postponing the next installment of The Last Night because my head just hasn’t been into writing this week surrounding the horrific death of George Floyd and the national uprising that it justly caused. My heart is burdened, my thoughts are racing, and I’m grieving for the black community around me. I just want to say that I stand with anyone who experiences or has experienced the daily and ongoing injustice of hatred or racism. I do not personally know what this is like. I will not pretend to understand. But I do know that it needs to end. And it ends with us. Enough is enough.
> 
> This is probably my shortest chapter yet, but I hope it offers you a brief break from the harsh reality of what is going on. I promise to double my word count for the next installment. Be safe. Be brave. Be bold. And above all else, be kind whenever possible. If anyone needs anything, please do not hesitate to reach out. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here: https://theheartsmistakes.tumblr.com/
> 
> “People aren't born good or bad. Maybe they're born with tendencies either way, but its the way you live your life that matters.” ― Cassandra Clare, City of Glass


	10. Light of Love

The iron gates to the Institute rumbled open as James took the corner off the street nearly destroying the trumpet on one of the angel statues that had already been replaced several times in the seventeen years that James has lived there. Xanthos dripped sweat as he came to an abrupt stop outside the front steps to the institute door, just behind Matthew’s automobile that still had all of the doors left wide open.

James jumped down from the driver’s seat and skid on the loose gravel as he grabbed the coach door and yanked it open.

Lucie grimaced when the sun illuminated the inside of the dark cab. Her eyes were red and swollen, her hands covered in something too dark to be blood. His stele gripped in her hand as James grabbed Cordelia underneath the arms and positioned her in a way that he could easily lift her off of the cab seat.

With her head tucked beneath his chin, he could faintly feel her breath against his throat. He tightened his grip on her, offering her some of his own strength, or at least the comfort of knowing that she was safe now and help was coming.

The doors to the Institute opened as he climbed the marble steps. He was met with the worried expressions of both of his parents.

“James.” Will whispered as he reached out towards Cordelia. “What happened?”

“Where is Lucie?” Tessa asked, her eyes drifting over his shoulder.

“She’s in the carriage,” said James, as he adjusted Cordelia in his arms. “Are the Silent Brothers still here? She needs to see them urgently. There is no time.”

“Up the stairs,” said Will, leading James towards the curved staircase that led to the second level. “They arrived sometime this morning, but no one knows who summoned them. Jem said that a message arrived for them to come to the London Institute urgently and that there had been an attack. About half an hour after they arrived Alastair was brought in and they warned us that Lucie and Cordelia were still missing and that Belial might have something to do with it. James, please tell me that you can explain some of this?”

Will quickly followed after James up the staircase while while Tessa ran to assist Lucie behind them. Will barked orders at the house servants to tend to the horse outside while James took the stairs two at a time careful not to jostle Cordelia, but by the small whimpers she made he knew that it was inevitable.

They took a corner and climbed another small flight of stairs that deposited them into a hallway that was crowded with people. The closest to them was Christopher, standing with his back to James and in front of a crumpled Thomas on the floor. Anna sat on the floor beside him with an arm around his shoulder. Matthew, who has been leaning beside the Infirmary door, pushed off from the wall and ran to meet James. He cursed at the sight of Cordelia and quickly moved out of the way while Christopher ran forward to open the infirmary door for James to rush through.

Three silent brothers were gathered around Alastair’s head. James could hear their whispering in his mind, but couldn’t make out the words they were speaking, when a familiar voice cut away from them.

“James.”

“Uncle Jem,” said James as he came to stop in the center of the room. “Please, you have to do something quickly. I don’t think she’s breathing.”

“Lay her down here,” said Jem as he motioned for a bed opposite Alastair’s. Three more Silent Brother’s emerged and began to swarm around Cordelia as James carefully placed her on top of the white sheets. Her skin had become impossibly ashen; her lips tinted blue; she looked like the shell of the person that he used to know.

James kneeled on the bed beside her. His hand gripped hers and squeezed, but her own remained limp inside of his own. Not even a flex from one of her perfect fingers.

Inside of his head he resumed his quiet pleas for her to live. To breathe. To fight.

Beside him, Will put a hand on James’ shoulder. “Follow me. We should let the Silent Brothers do their work.”

“I want to stay with her,” said James. “Please, someone should be with her.”

“I will not leave her,” said Jem, inside James’ mind. “You should listen to your father. It is best if we can perform our work without interruption. If anything is to happen, I will let you know first.”

If anything is to happen.

If she were to die, he means. If she doesn’t respond to their treatments. If James was once again too late. He hesitated to release Cordelia as tears trickled down his cheeks. He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to her temple. She smelt of ashes and dust with only a hint of the warm floral scent that used to come from her.

Behind his closed eyes he could see Cordelia inside the Hell Ruelle, dancing under the red tinted lights, flecks of gold glistened on her skin and in her hair, and her cheeks fluffed with excitement and life. He could see her walking with Lucie in the park, her hair falling out of the tortoise shell clip that attempted to secure her delicate curls. He could see her eyes dancing when she called him the leader of the Merry Thieves. He didn’t notice it then, because of his own blindness or because of the bracelet, but her belief in him burned like a witchlight in perfect darkness.

The thought of never seeing her like that again made it difficult for him to breathe.

Will led him out of the infirmary and back into the hallway where the rest of his friends were waiting. But once out in the hallway, James broke away from them without a word, his eyes on the dried blood that covered his hands, when he nearly collided with Grace Blackthorn. The usual surge of emotion that once blinded him to everything else except her was non-existent and replaced by a bitter rage that had him tightening his hands into fists at his sides at the mere sight of her. When she stepped into his path, he paused for only a moment, before he skirted around her and continued stalking towards the stairs.

Grace’s voice followed him. “James, please, I need to speak with you.”

“Not now, Grace.” James threw the words over his shoulder.

Grace moved quickly so she fell into step beside him. “Please, I don’t blame you for not wishing to speak with me and I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t of the utmost importance.”

James’ steps did not falter.

Grace grabbed him by the arm before he could descend the stairs and turned him towards her on the peak of the top step. Her eyes widened with realization. “You removed the bracelet.”

James kept his eyes on the floor. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her out of shame, humiliation, betrayal. He wasn’t sure.

Grace lifted his sleeve exposing his naked wrist.

“I supposed you’ll be wanting it back.” James reached into his pocket and pressed it into her hand.

Grace looked down at it. Her already ghostly complexion had somehow become even more pale. “But—How? That’s not possible.”

James swallowed heavily. Every muscle in his body urged him to turn around and keep walking, but the words formed on his tongue before he could stop them. “I had something real.” The words spit from his mouth like venom. “Someone real. And because of you, and whatever you’d done to that bracelet, I was too blind to see it.”

Grace caught him by the shoulder. “Will you allow me to— James!”

But James broke out from underneath her grip and ran down the stairs with no sense of hope or direction in his mind.

* * *

Lucie’s hands shook with Cordelia’s blood still covering them; caked underneath each of her nails and buried in each cuticle bed and shallow line of her palm. Every rune she drew into Cordelia’s skin glowed for a moment and disappeared no matter how much Lucie willed it to do its work and heal Cordelia just enough that they could make it back to the institute. She couldn’t help but wonder if they had become parabatai sooner if any of this would have happened.

An even sicker thought entered her brain. If Cordelia had never become their friend, the friend of the grandchildren of a prince of hell, then none of this would have happened to her.

Lucie knew she should get out of the carriage and follow after James and Cordelia, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. A sob ripped from her throat and she couldn’t even bury it in her hands. It just filled the empty space around her as James’ stele clattered down from her lap onto the floor of the carriage.

“Lucie!” Tessa stood in the doorway of the carriage. “Darling, are you all right?”

Lucie swallowed another sob that threatened to emerge from her throat and clenched her jaw until she shook. “Yes,” she answered. “I’m not hurt.”

Tessa nodded and extended her hand for Lucie to take. Lucie tightened her grip on the fabric of her gear though, afraid to put one of her hands into her mother’s. She knew her mother had seen her fair share of blood before, but Lucie didn’t want to share the responsibility of Cordelia’s blood with anyone else.

When she emerged from the carriage, Tessa quickly tucked her into her side and hurried towards the institute door while several servants emerged to tend to Xanthos who’d dragged the carriage home with one damaged tire and looked positively tired and exasperated from his travels.

Lucie let Tessa lead her up the stairs, asking a maidservant to warm some water for a bath for Lucie. The maidservant hurried ahead of them to start preparing. Lucie allowed her mother to carry most of her weight as her legs felt like they’d been filled with sand. Her skin itched and crawled. Her chest ached and her throat felt like someone was squeezing it with an iron fist. All of her thoughts raced like a thousand thoroughbred horses sprinting around a track.

When they arrived in Lucie’s bedroom, Tessa helped Lucie out of her gear and carefully unpinned her hair and down came handfuls of orange sand sprinkled across the floor.

Tessa quickly brushed the material off of Lucie’s shoulders. Lucie could see the questions spilling through Tessa’s mind, but Tessa only offered her daughter a small smile and led her towards the bathroom.

Once inside the tub, Tessa busied herself with soap and calming incense while Lucie drew her knees up to her chest and allowed her mother to wash the sand from her hair and the blood from her skin, paying particular attention to her hands and arms. The water turned a startling shade of pink by the time Tessa helped Lucie from the bath. It was a strange thing, but Lucie wanted to stay in the water a bit longer, as if somehow Cordelia remained with her that way.

What a terribly grim thought, but Lucie thought it nonetheless.

Once in a fresh cotton frock and nestled under the heavy quilted comforter of her four poster bed with her wet hair pleated by her mother’s gentle fingers, Tessa sat on the bed beside Lucie with her arm over Lucie’s legs.

“Would you like for me to stay with you awhile?” Tessa asked as she brushed a finger down the curve of Lucie’s face. “I don’t mind.”

Lucie turned her water rimmed eyes away from Tessa and looked towards the window where the heavy curtains were drawn.

“It’s all right, darling.” Tessa cupped Lucie’s face in her hand. “It’s all right. You’re safe now. Cordelia is getting help. You did so well, my darling, you did so well.”

“I couldn’t—“ Lucie took a deep breath as the tears flowed from her eyes to be caught by her mother’s gentle fingers. “I couldn’t save her.”

“But you did what you could do,” said Tessa. “And you brought her to the help she needs.”

Lucie grimaced. “Oh mother, don’t you see? It’s our fault.” Lucie brought her arm over her eyes. “It’s all our fault. If she dies it will be because of me.”

Tessa straightened the covers over Lucie, a habit she adopted Lucie realized when her mother felt that there was little else she felt she could do. When she spoke again, Lucie could hear the pain in her voice. “No,” said Tessa. “No, this is not your fault. This is not your doing.”

“He took her because of me,” Lucie cried.

Tessa pulled on Lucie’s arm. “You? What did he want with you? I thought it was James he was after.”

Lucie sucked in a breath. She wanted to tell her mother everything. The words were practically sitting on her tongue, the anvil weighing on her chest lifted just a bit. But the thoughts drifted back in: what would they think of her? Their daughter who could raise and command the dead. What would they say? They’d protect her, she was sure of it, but at what cost? If they knew Belial was after her they’d die trying to protect her from him. They’d lock her into an even smaller cage then they condemned James too, because she was a girl, and couldn’t possibly defend herself against a prince of hell.

No, no she could not tell anyone.

The anvil slammed back down.

Lucie let her arm fall back down to her side. “He wanted to get to James through Cordelia and I. It was a dramatic miscalculation on his part, honestly. I’m not sure where he is getting his information from but his sources are sorely lacking in accurate information.”

Tessa’s eyes narrowed just slightly causing Lucie to hold her breath, but her expression relaxed. “What did he say to you? What is it that he wants?”

“World domination,” Lucie shrugged.

Tessa made a small noise. “It seems a strange thing to want, doesn’t it? Complete control over an entire world. I have enough difficulty being responsible for three people’s lives, I cannot imagine being responsible for an entire civilization.”

“I don’t think it's the responsibility he wants,” said Lucie. “It’s about possession. It’s control. He’s powerful, but he has limitations. He’s not human and what did Lucifer envy most of all?”

“Humans.” Tessa nodded. “God’s most perfect creation.”

Lucie reached out and took her mother’s hand. “We’ll not let him. I think he’s trapped wherever he is. He can’t reach us on his own and that buys us some time. We can come up with a way to kill him—“

“No.” Tessa’s voice grew stern. “No, I do not want you involved in this any longer. None of you. You’ll let your father and I worry about this. This is our fight, not your own.”

“Mum,” Lucie attempted to argue, but before she could Tessa released her hand and stood up. “You’re to keep yourself away from this, do you understand? I’ll spend no more time on this. Get some rest and come downstairs when you’re feeling up to it.”

Lucie nodded and watched her mother turn to leave. “You’ll come and get me with any word on Cordelia?”

Tessa nodded and urgently left the room.

Sleep and all manor of rest alluded Lucie. She laid in bed staring at the crown molding around the perimeter of her room. Herons were carved into the wood with long vines hanging from their mouths. When decorating her room, her mother and aunt Cecily tried to convince her that the dark wine burgundy wallpaper she had chosen was an awful dark color for such a large space, but it made Lucie feel like Mary Shelley writing in a dungeon about many impossible creatures. She kept her space simple. Hand painted pictures that Cordelia brought her from a trip to India hung on either side of the bed. When she looked at them, she felt like a world traveler, having seen these places herself. Her bed linens were an off-white with golden stitching with no bed ruffle because she liked the dark distressed wood, and it was easier to slide a copy of her manuscript under when one of her parents came into the room to tell her to go to sleep.

She found solace in her room the way James found it in the library, but tonight it brought her no such relief.

Her thoughts raced with images of Cordelia and Belial. His long fingers stretching out towards her flashed whenever she’d close her eyes. She wished she’d figured out a way to kill him when she had the chance. When he was standing right in front of her. Now, she’d have to wait.

“Why didn’t you tell her?”

Lucie sat up in bed to find Jesse standing at the end of it, a translucent shadow with the glow of the fireplace glowing through him and behind him.

Lucie exhaled heavily and clutched her chest. “You must stop doing that.”

“My apologies,” said Jesse, a smirk lifting at the corner of his mouth. “I thought you could feel my presence.”

Lucie adjusted herself with her back against the headboard. “No, it’s me who should be apologizing, my mind is preoccupied at the moment. I’m afraid I’m not myself. Jesse, I cannot properly thank you for helping me last night. I wasn’t entirely convinced it would work, but it seemed worth a shot. You saved me yet again and at a large expense to yourself.”

Jesse shook his head, but Lucie went on. “You could have been lost in there, in the shadow world. Your soul could have been trapped there forever. And still you did it anyway. I’m afraid that I owe you for a lot more than just my own life.”

“Lucie, you owe me nothing.”

“I do,” insisted Lucie. “I am going to find a way to bring you back.”

“Necromancy is a dark magic,” said Jesse. “One that is not easily forgiven by the Clave. It’s too dangerous. I came here to tell you to stop.”

“To stop—“

“Yes,” Jesse said firmly. “I blame myself for all of this. I let you entertain the idea of bringing me back, because I liked the idea myself, and I like you. But I realize now that I’m only a danger to you the closer we become and I cannot allow something to happen to you.”

“Jesse—“

Jesse took a step backwards. “Your attention should be on stopping Belial, on being a Shadowhunter, and a writer, not on something that has proved to be impossible. Please, Lucie, I need for you to understand.”

“Well, I don’t,” said Lucie. “I don’t understand at all. I won’t stop trying, and frankly, I think you’re being incredibly indecent at the moment. I may have lost my friend tonight, I will not lose you too!”

“Cordelia's life is flickering,” said Jesse. “It’s weak, but it’s still there. She’ll need your attention when she wakes up. Please know how sorry I am, but this is absolutely for the best.”

“Is this because I used you to escape Belial?” Lucie couldn’t stop the tears from spilling from her eyes. “I won’t do it again. I promise. I’ll command some other ghost next time. I’ll be more sensitive, I--.”

“This is why.” Jesse walked around her bed and grabbed her arm, but his hand went right through her like vapor. “I am dead, Lucie. My sister has ruined her life because of me. My mother is on her way to prison. You will not be the next tragedy that befalls because of an attempt to save me when it may well be futile. And while I couldn’t stop them, I can stop you.”

She tried to reach for his hand again, but her fingers went straight through his.

“I am sorry,” said Jesse slowly, she thought she felt the cool wisp of his breath on her cheek. “Life is for living, Lucie, not for the dead. It’s time I find my peace with it.”

“No.” Lucie swung her legs over the side of the bed, but when she stood up, he was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If you want some more feels added to the sadness that is this chapter give Light of Love by Florence + The Machine a listen (which this chapter is named after). It inspired most of the conversations in this chapter. It really helped me get into the Herondale mindset. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Don’t hesitate to leave it some love! Next update is coming Sunday 6/14.)


	11. Killing Me Softly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Things will get slightly spicy in this section. No spicer than The Whispering Room scene (don’t get too excited), but it is definitely heating up. I missed writing the romance and I’m excited to be moving back into that-- even if it does end jarringly. Anyway, I hope you all had a lovely father’s day! Stay safe. Stay healthy! And thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this: please give it a like, reblog, comment, and hit follow for more updates. Next update will be here Sunday, 6/28
> 
> I also post on Tumblr. You can find me https://theheartsmistakes.tumblr.com/

Cordelia stood in the center of her room back at her home in London. The walls were still adorned with silver paper, decorated with old Persian artwork that her grandfather had painted himself and given to Sona to decorate their house with to remind her of home. The four poster bed was turned down; a thin white vail hung from each poster. The only light in the room came from the enchanting blue flames that burned in the grate; though, Cordelia could not feel the heat from it and she seemed to be deathly chilled.

She couldn’t recall how she’d arrived there. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember much of anything before and searching for the memories was like hitting a tall, very broad wall whenever she tried. She studied the books on the walls, drawing her index finger along the delicate gold letters stamped into the spines of the leather, but they were all written in a language she couldn’t understand. The letters were familiar, but rearranged and jumbled around.

“Daisy?”

Cordelia turned around and her heart jumped into her throat at the sight of James standing in the doorway. He was dressed casually in a white button up collar shirt, black trousers, and navy suspenders over each of his shoulders. The shirt hugged the shape of his arms as he clasped his hands behind his back. The twists of his willful dark curls were pushed back away from his face, but still fell carelessly around his ears and grazed his neck. He smiled at her intake of breath and took a step closer towards her.

“James,” Cordelia sighed and stepped towards him. “James, I’m afraid something terrible has happened. I can’t seem to remember how I got here.”

James reached up and brushed a curl that had fallen from her braid back behind her ear. His calloused fingers grazed around the shell of her ear and down her neck sending prickles across her skin. His eyes were nearly solid black with just a circle of gold around the blown iris.

Before she could say anything, James drew her against him. His cheek pressed against hers, the skin already burning where they were connected. His mouth was not gentle, it became possessive and devastating in a way that she had never been kissed before.

Cordelia reached out and slid her hands over his chest so she could feel the rhythm of his heart against her palms.

There was fire everywhere, because he was everywhere. His hands traced her skin, burning it. His lips tasted every inch of her face. The bookshelf slammed into her back, but there was no pain. She couldn’t feel anything beside the burning.

Her hands continued to knot in his hair, pulling him towards her as if there were any possible way for them to be closer. With his help, she wrapped her legs around his waist, the wall giving her the leverage that she needed. The sound of fabric ripping was vague in her mind as his tongue twisted with hers, and there was no part of her mind that was not invaded by the insane desire that possessed her.

He pulled his mouth free and pressed his lips to her ear. “Cordelia.” It was soft, barely a whisper. “You must come back to me. Allow me the chance to win your heart properly.”

Cordelia gasped, it’s yours.

She wasn’t sure if she just thought the words or if she had said them, but before she could, his mouth captured hers again.

Her hands fisted around the fabric of James’ t-shirt, yanking it up from the hem of his trousers. She could feel the muscles of his stomach under her palms, her hands crushed between them. James’ pulse jumped; his hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back so he could access the fragrant delicate skin of her neck.

Her eyes fluttered closed as his tongue slid over the curve of her jaw.

Somewhere at the surface of her consciousness, she knew this wasn’t real. She knew it was only a memory. A way for her mind to torment her. Or maybe this was her judgement day; she was being forced to relive the most sinful moments of her past. If that were true, then the pleasure of the memory vastly outweighed the punishment.

He moved them away from the bookcase, half-carrying her, his mouth never leaving hers. He stumbled across the broad colorful rug, hands and lips frantic as he leaned over her on the bed. Cordelia arched upwards, her elbows supporting some of her weight, as James stepped away to shrug off his suspenders, letting them hang down from his hips.

When he came back to her, he picked up her bare foot and placed it on his shoulder, and began pressing light kisses to the inside of her smooth calf. Cordelia gasped, relishing in the new sensation and also terrified by it. Her empty hands clenched the thick down comforter as his lips traced a line up her inner thigh to her hip and continued over the fabric of her night dress.

All Cordelia could think to do was breath. Her mind felt cloudy as the heat and flames threatened to consume her to a point where it was almost painful. Beads of sweat formed along her brow and pooled in the dip at the base of her throat.

James continued to press sweet, delicate kisses up her stomach, over her breasts, and up her throat.

When he reached her ear, a voice that did not belong to James whispered into her ear. “It’s time to wake up, Miss Carstairs. There is still a need for you yet.”

Cordelia gasped and leaned away from James. His eyes remained wild and dark with desire but the color had changed to silver.

Cordelia screamed.

James grimaced at the sound of Cordelia’s screams coming from underneath the door. He’d been pacing the hallway for some time and was now standing outside the door with his forehead pressed against the cold wood listening to the blood curdling cries for help from the room inside. His hands tightened into fists at his sides to keep from reaching for the door handle again. He’d already failed several times and he didn’t want to risk Matthew and Thomas making good on their promise to tie him to a chair and lock him in there indefinitely.

“Why do you insist on torturing yourself like this?” asked Matthew, who sat across from Thomas on the floor. “We should all be getting some rest. None of us had any sleep last night and I believe it’s beginning to impair our judgement.”

“Go get some sleep then,” said Thomas without looking up from the spot on the floor that has held his attention for the last fifteen minutes. “No one is stopping you.”

“Tell me again, Thomas,” said Matthew accusatoryly, “what are you doing here exactly? You’re not particularly close to either of the Carstairs and yet you look about as distraught as James.”

“I’m just tired,” said Thomas.

“Precisely why we should all go get some rest.” Matthew reiterated. “We can’t do anything standing out here with little to no sleep. I suggest a quick hour nap and we reconvene in the game room with some fresh pastries and tea.”

Both James and Thomas looked to Matthew. Before either of them could say anything, the door to the infirmary opened and Brother Zachariah nearly stepped into James.

“Matthew is right,” said Jem and placed a scarred hand on James’ shoulder. “You should get some rest. Cordelia and Alastair have a long and difficult road ahead of them. There is no saying how long it might be or when the tide might change.”

“She’s in pain,” said James, his voice broke on the last word. “What are they doing to her to make her sound like that? She sounds like she’s getting worse, not getting better.”

Jem hummed in James’ mind. “She fractured two of her ribs and punctured a lung that slowly filled with her own blood that was compromised with demon venom from the tail of Diggoron demon. We have no idea how long it has been in her system, but long enough for it to spread throughout her entire body and compromise her heart.” Jem cupped James’ face with a scarred hand. “James, it is time to start preparing yourself—“

“James?” said his mother’s voice from behind him.

He looked over his shoulder to find her out of her night gown now and in a soft Oriental dress with her hair pinned back halfway. Her gloved hand held softly to Sona beside her. Their guest wore white as if she were already in mourning. The thought made James furious, but he put his head down and stepped out from in front of the door.

Sona held a handkerchief to her face. Her large round eyes, so similar to Cordelia’s, were rimmed with red. She clung to Tessa as if to keep herself straight and if she’d let go, she’d fall over instantly like a structure that has had its bottom half completely taken out from underneath it. She’d always reminded James somehow of a plastic bird, beautiful and elegant on the outside, but with even the slightest pressure she’d crumble apart. So unlike Cordelia, who appeared soft on the outside, but could withstand holding the weight of his sister for hours until help came. Who fought through the pain of a broken leg to help James escape his grandfather. Who stood up in front of their cohorts and peers and declared herself ruined to provide him with an albeit. She could not be easily crushed.

Tessa handed Sona to Jem who showed her inside. Before the door slid closed, James caught a quick glimpse of Cordelia’s hair spilling over the pillow: a shock of red against the white of the linens. Her face and body were hidden by Silent Brothers gathered around her.

“James,” said Tessa as she slid her hand over his shoulder. “Have you eaten anything? Have you had any rest?”

The door slid closed again just as Sona made it to Cordelia’s bedside.

“I’m not hungry,” said James and stepped out from underneath his mother’s hand to lean against the wall.

“You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine.”

There was quiet and for a moment James thought that she had left which seemed so unlike his mother, but then her voice cut through the silence. “Matthew, Thomas,” she said gently, “why don’t you go to the kitchens and have some pork pies Bridget just made. I wish to speak with my son a moment.”

Matthew helped Thomas to his feet and the two left the hallway quietly.

Tessa came to lean against the wall beside her son. It had never bothered James that his mother was perpetually stuck in a certain state that made them appear almost the same age, except for the intelligence behind her gray eyes that showed to the strength of her character. Her hair retained a youthful spring as it threatened to escape from its carefully pinned rolls. Her skin remained flawless without any threat of cracking. For a while, Tessa tried to dress in a manner that she felt made her look older. She went to beauty shops and allowed the artists to paint her face in makeup to appear more aged, and no one said anything to her, because she thought that it made her somehow ‘fit in’ with the other mothers that had been touched by time. The truth was that James had always thought his mother was the most beautiful first thing in the morning. When her hair would spill down her back and her face pale and not yet painted. When she would smother Lucie and him with kisses without fear of smudging their face with lipstick.

One day, not too long ago, she threw out all of her makeup and changed her wardrobe to dresses that she liked. James wasn’t sure what had changed and he never asked, but he was grateful. Even if the snide remarks returned about his mother's appearance from his peers around him. He’d fight anyone that turned a bad word against his mother. She’d never say if someone offended her; she’d barely bat an eye, but James would fill the Thames with anyone who tried.

“I know you must feel as if this is all my fault,” she said. “Most children hate their parents for normal reasons: they are too strict, they’re controlling or absent, they won’t buy the latest things. To add to all of those things, you and Lucie must resent us terribly for having children knowing that I am the child of a monster.”

“Mam,” James reached out and took her hand. “I don’t blame you for this. I don’t resent you or Da. You are not Belial. Believe me, you are the farthest thing from him. The only ones that I blame for what happened to Cordelia and Alastair is Belial and myself.”

“You?” Tessa tightened her grip on James’ hand. “What did you do?

James felt the quickening in his chest as the memory of Cordelia standing at the top of the stairs outside of Grace’s bedroom. The way the tears fell from her eyes when she told him how he’d broken a promise to her. A promise he’d intended to keep.

He knew almost immediately what his mother would say if he were to tell her what he had done to make Cordelia flee from the Institute that night. He knew that she’d try to console him by telling him that it wasn’t his fault. He was under the bracelet’s curse. He had nothing to feel guilty about. And she would be right.

But he didn’t want to feel better. He didn’t want to be absolved of his guilt just yet. Because his guilt fueled his anger and his will for Cordelia to live, so that when she did wake up, he could beg her for forgiveness. He could make her see that he wasn’t entirely himself that night.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, there was also a level of shame.

So he lied. “I should have gotten to her sooner. I should have been the one to go into the shadow realm, not Lucie. I should have killed Belial when I had the chance. I won’t fail next time.”

Tessa took a deep breath through her nose. “I’ll tell you what I told your sister. I don’t want you children involved in this anymore. Your father and I will manage it from here. We will conduct a search and find Belial. It is our responsibility, our burden, not yours.”

And as terribly as he wanted to give into the small child within himself and allow his parents to take the anxiety away from him, he knew that he could not. Belial wanted a fight. James would bring him a fight, but this time he’d be prepared to end it.


	12. Come in, Come in

Part XII  
The following morning, James was settled in a wing chair in the game room, nominally enthralled by a short collection of poetry by Keats. It’d been a comfort to read Keats’ poetry when he would be feeling out of sorts. Perhaps because his father insisted on reading it to him as a child before bed. It seemed even in his adolescent and young adulthood, after weeks of sleepless nights cramming for examinations, going through drills during the day, and shivering through countless patrols in the chilly streets of London, he always enjoyed dozing in the warmth of a well-made fire, with Keats’ heart bleeding through the pages of his collection.

This naturally led to his considering what Keats would do in a situation like his. As his mind wandered into his thoughts, he was aware of the scent of late-blooming climbing rose coming in the window on a puff of air and he noted that the scent might have prompted the thought and he wondered whether Matthew would still be Matthew if he smelled of diesel and boot polish instead of bay rum, and what Cordelia, who smelled of roses and lime blossom to him, would be doing at this time of the day if she weren’t lying in her sick bed.

A swift clatter of boots on the stairs heralded Matthew’s arrival, and he closed the book, without the relief he’d been searching for, for even Keats couldn’t keep his mind from wandering.

“The Silent Brothers have gone,” said Matthew, his tone composed with his usual preferred demeanor of bored indifference.

“Gone where?” asked James.

“Back to the Citadel, I’m assuming,” said Matthew. He tugged at his starched shirt collar, and James could see he was warm with sweat about the neck, as if he had run all the way here. “Brother Zachariah remains and another, but I cannot recall his name, they all look the same to me.”

“Any word on Cordelia or Alastair?”

“Unfortunately not and the adults want a word with us in the dining room post haste. I assume they want a detailed description of our knowledge concerning the events of the night.” Matthew slumped in the other wing chair and covered his face with his arm. “

“Well, that’s certainly a blow to my afternoon plans,” said James, keeping his tone light in the hope that he could convince his parents and friends that he was calm enough to stand outside the bedroom that Cordelia had been moved into. They moved her in the night while he slept and no one would tell him the location due to his sudden outbursts. “If the other Brothers have left, that’s surely a good sign that Cordelia and Alastair are healing and are no longer in need of their attention.”

“It’s possible,” said Matthew from under his sleeve. “My parents are here, as are Kit’s and Thomas’s.” He groaned and added, “Charles insisted on coming as well. My life is over.”

James cursed. “What does he want?”

“‘To get to the bottom of this most unfortunate disaster’,” said Matthew, “his words, not mine. He’ll insist on lecturing us about how insubordinate we’ve all been, and how, seeing as we are underage, we have no business going out after the Carstairs siblings without briefing the adults with the situation first. He’ll make me file his paperwork for a month.”

“You’re being a bit dramatic,” said James.

Even as James spoke he felt the hypocrisy of offering comfort instead of truth. But what truth could he speak to his parabatai? Remembering the whispered conversations between his own parents after James had returned from near death by demon poisoning, James knew with a sinking feeling that his own investigation towards his grandfather would need to be done in absolute secrecy.

“Charles has been wanting to get me behind a desk since we were children,” said Matthew. “My mother will surely not object now that Shadowhunters are being plucked from their carriages in the streets.”

“Well, lucky for Charles, you’ve the best penmanship of all of us,” said James.

“So glad to hear that your humor has returned,”groaned Matthew, hanging his head so that his face was hidden beneath the fall of his hair. “Even if it is at my expense.”

“Pull yourself together, Math,” said James. He stood and tugged the edges of his jacket down as if to reinforce his words. “It will not serve to allow the entire household to hear such agitation. We have faced our parent’s fury before, this will be no different, I’m sure.” There was a pause, and James gazed out the window to allow Matthew a moment to compose himself. While he envied Matthew’s free and easy, passionate nature, his capacity for intense friendships, he always felt squeamish in the face of Matthew’s occasional display of emotion. He was accustomed to his own emotional outburst and Matthew insisting on James to calm down.

“You are right, of course,” said Matthew at last. He pulled a large silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. “Good to see you back to your more rational nature.”

“Thank you,” said James, fully aware that Matthew did not altogether mean it as a compliment. It was hardly fair that Matthew should provoke him into a purse-lipped rigidity and then insult him for it, but James’s first concern was to protect his friend from his own self-indulgence. “Now why don’t we make a suitable plan?” he added. “I’ve learned long ago that it’s best to just nod in the presence of angered adults.”

Matthew nodded as if to show his ability to follow direction. “Perhaps we should share what we know about Belial.”

“I think not,” said James. “My parent’s have already made it quite clear that they don’t want us involved in the investigation any further. We will have to continue it without their knowing.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” said Matthew. “He nearly possessed you and tried to kill Cordelia twice.”

“Which is why we must continue the investigation on how to properly kill him because it can be sure that he will not stop until he has what he wants,” said James. “There has to be a way to kill him properly.”

“I hope it’s something obvious,” said Matthew, “like spritzing him with water or feeding him chocolate.”

A sound of voices in the hallway outside the game room was followed by a light knocking on the door and Thomas’s voice saying, “Of course I’ve forgotten the secret knock, it was far too complex to begin with.”

“They’re here to fetch us,” said Matthew urgently. James noticed that he did have a strange, pale look about his face, but perhaps, he thought, this was the properly deserved effect of too much rough cider.

“By the angel, it’s only Christopher and Thomas,” he said. “You and Thomas can look pale and interesting together. Of course, he’s only just lost his sister. Perhaps his situation will help your sense of perspective.”

“Your sarcasm lacks the delicacy that would render it amusing,” said Matthew. “But thank you for your reason. Your permanent frown always brings me to my senses.”

“I do not have a permanent frown,” said James. He took a brief look into the mirror over the mantle and consciously adjusted his features to a half smile, which only seemed to make him look as if he were in pain.

“Hello gentleman,” said Matthew, “do come in. It’s mercifully clear of authority in here.”

Christopher and Thomas came through the door, and James found himself slightly relieved that they were alone. Both of them were neatly dressed in tweed trousers, buttoned up shirts with suspenders. Christophers glasses rested on the end of his nose while Thomas' shirt strained heavily around the illustrious girth of his arms. Neither of them seemed to wear any hint of the previous night’s grievances.

“Welcome,” he said. “Is it time then?”

“Just about,” said Thomas and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve only just arrived with mum and dad and only convinced Christopher’s parents to allow him to leave their side by promising that we were only going as far as to fetch the two of you.”

“It’s already begun,” Matthew blurted out. “Behold men, your last minutes of freedom.”

“What’s he on about?” asked Thomas.

“Pay him no mind,” said James. “He’s consumed with the notion that due to the events of the last few nights our parents are going to handcuff us to desks until we come of age.”

“My mother suggested it,” said Christopher, “but I think my father has made progress against the idea.”

“See,” said James, gesturing to Christopher. “If my aunt Cecily can be brought to sense then so will your parents. Let’s just do what they ask of us and resume our investigation without their knowledge.”

“So not much different from what we’ve been doing for the past seventeen years?” said Matthew, shooting James a look. James could only roll his eyes as Christopher and Thomas drifted to the two wing chairs, where they sat and continued, for some minutes, to turn over the circumstances of the secret Belial investigation in a low and urgent manner.

“Any word on Cordelia and Alastair?” asked James.

Thomas nose flared as he met James’s gaze with an expression of frankness. “No,” he said. “Not that I’ve heard.”

James leaned against the wall and felt an echo of the agony that he had felt the night before and had to quell an urge to run out of the room and demand that someone give him information on the state of his fiance, seeing as far as everyone knew they were still engaged.

“I overheard our mother’s talking,” said Christopher to Matthew. “Alastair woke for a moment last night and was able to communicate with the Silent Brothers, but he is instructed to rest without visitors so that the injuries to his brain can continue to heal.” Matthew grumbled something under his breath. “Cordelia has been placed into an induced coma that she is unable to wake up from on her own. When her injuries have had some time to heal they’ll attempt to wake her up. The good news however is that the cure for her demon poisoning has allowed the runes to take a more immediate effect so she is healing.”

Christopher offered James a reassuring smile, which he appreciated more than he could properly express.

“Forget being tied to a desk,” muttered Matthew. “My mother will probably request having me put into an induced coma instead.”

Tessa Gray sat in the plush velvet couch in the front drawing room with her legs crossed at the ankles and her husband’s hand gently pressed against her shoulder while he sipped brandy from a glass tumbler in his free hand. Aunt Cecily was seated in a wing chair beside the fire with her husband Gabriel a respectful six feet away from Will. Aunt Sophie sat at the other end of the couch with Tessa, her hand held softly in the clutches of Gideon, both of them still carrying the misery of the loss of their eldest daughter Barbara. Charlotte Fairchild stood behind her husband’s wheelchair and beside her eldest son Charles. James knocked on the door and went in followed by Matthew, Christopher, and Thomas.

“Gentlemen,” said Will. “I hope that you all slept well and are prepared for punishment and ridicule.”

“William,” warned Tessa. “We simply want you to recount your details from the night the Carstair’s were attacked.

Matthew shifted beside James.

It had only just occurred to him that he hadn’t seen Lucie since they arrived at the Institute with Cordelia and she wasn’t in the room now. “Where is Lucie? She would have more to tell than any of us would.”

“Lucie has already recounted her experience,” said Tessa, one eyebrow raised. “She’s resting now. It’s the four of you that we wish to speak to now.”

“We are enacting an investigation on this prince of hell Belial,” said Charles, as he moved forward into the center of the room. “If we’re to be successful in locating him and effectively killing him then we need all of the information that you have concerning him.”

“I’ve already told my parents everything that I know about Belial,” said James. Both Will and Tessa turned him a look. James exhaled and began his recount of his experiences with Belial.

“And you believe Belial to be the one to have taken Miss Carstairs?” asked Charles when James was finished.

“I never saw him myself,” said James. “That would be a question for Lucie.”

“She claimed not to have seen him either,” said Charles, removing a pocket watch and checking the time before slipping it back into his trousers. “She said that she found Cordelia in the fog badly injured. She said that she lost you, but once the fog rolled away, you appeared again. Is this not the truth?”

James wasn’t sure what would compel his sister to lie about the events of Cordelia’s rescue, but he had to assume that there was a good reason and one that he would explore later when he could speak to his sister himself.

“It’s the truth,” said James. “As I told you before Lucie disappeared into the fog and I ran after her. We lost each other for some time, and when the fog moved off, she was there again with Cordelia.”

Charles stroked his chin. “It’s been unanimously agreed upon that the four of you, including Lucie and Anna, will be restricted to local patrols during daylight hours and are to report in detail any and all demon activity. If you so choose to break your restrictions then your punishment will be as sever as I see warranted.”

“What exactly would you see warranted?” asked James.

“You’ll be sent to Alicante,” said Charles, his eyes marked on Matthew, “where you’ll remain until you come of age and if you continue to disobey direct orders then the punishment will be as severe as stripping you of your marks.”

“Charles,” Charlotte hissed from beside her husband. “We never mentioned—“

“It is for their own safety, mother,” said Charles, squaring his shoulders. “I do hope it doesn’t come to such extremes, but in this case, the safety of one is the safety of them all. I do hope this will encourage them to keep each other accountable.”

Though it pained James that these new founded restrictions would limit his personal research on finding a way to kill Belial, it did not discourage him in the least. In fact, he was even more excited about the prospect of an opportunity to infuriate Charles. If one of them were to be sent to Alicante, he was sure the rest would follow, and he couldn’t strip them all of their marks. What with Shadowhunters being down in numbers as it were. Charles tactics were classic: infiltrate fear into the army without ever enacting punishment. Not that Charles would ever find out if they were going against him. Charles was too busy building his castle out of sand to see what goes on around him.

“I think Charles has allowed power to go to his head,” said Will, under his breath. He’d been in something of high spirits since Jem had arrived at the Institute and been ordered to stay to help the Carstairs siblings mend. “Don’t fret, Jamie boy, if you are stripped of your marks, Coleridge lived a life of poverty and had to be sustained by charitable friends and he turned out fine.”

“William,” Tessa hissed. “Do be serious for a moment. Jamie, as much as we regret taking away your personal freedoms, it is of the utmost importance that you heed the restrictions put in place for you. Even if he is being a power hungry, conniving, son of a--”

“What your mother is trying to convey,” said Will, moving in front of her, “is that you should be careful and mindful of your action.”

“I could always become a postman like Trollope?” said James. “I’ll begin to work on my beard.”

Will bellowed and clapped James on the shoulder just as the doors to the drawing room were opened by the footman and in walked Brother Zachariah with Sona beside him. Her graying hair has come loose and spilled down her back in an array of perfect waves that mirrored the texture of her daughters. Her expression was somber; deep circles sat under her eyes and her lips were impossibly dry.

Her arm was entwined with Jem’s as they shuffled into the room.

James, followed by Tessa and Will, hurried across the room to meet them.

“Mrs. Carstairs is in need of some rest,” said Brother Zachariah. “She would like to request that James remain with Miss Cordelia while she is away.”  
James took her free hand and offered it a reassuring squeeze.

“She is lost in there,” said Sona, her voice rough and weathered. “I can feel it. It helps if you read to her. Let her hear the sound of your voice so she has something to walk towards in all of that darkness.”

“I can show you to a room,” said Tessa, a note of emotion in her voice that she quickly cleared away.

“That would be lovely thank you,” said Sona and removed her arm from Jem’s for Tessa’s.

“Perhaps some light broth,” said Brother Zachariah. “She hasn’t eaten much and I worry for the child.”

Tessa nodded and led Sona from the room.

Brother Zachariah turned his attention to James. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better after some sleep,” said James. “I can go to Cordelia now if you wish.”

“She is having a bath,” said Jem, “but in the next hour. Prepare to make yourself comfortable, perhaps bring some literature. As Sona said before, it is of the utmost importance that you continue to speak to her, give her something to walk towards, or the Cordelia that you know can become lost in her thoughts forever.”

James' voice became bitter. “Why is she in a coma if it means she could become lost inside of her mind? Can’t you wake her up?”

“The injuries that she has sustained would be too terrible to be conscious during,” said Jem. “The body is able to heal much quicker if the mind is asleep to the pain.”

James drew himself into as stiff of a column as he could and clamped his teeth down on a small quiver of his jaw. He resolved himself in that moment to give Cordelia whatever she needed; if he had to read to her for days, weeks, even months then that was what he would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author’s Notes: Sup guys! I hope you had a fantastic Fourth of July (for the American readers) and celebrated safely. If you are not American, I hope you had a fantastic weekend! Thank you for your patience while I worked through some writer’s block. I think I’m getting back into a swing though. I started reading a book that is set in the Edwardian period and it has helped me find the dialect and voice that I started with. I’ve been reading a lot of contemporary literature as of late and I think it’s influenced my writing a little, which is fine, but I’m fighting to remain consistent. I’m working on a novel of my own and it’s also based in the Edwardian period, but in a fantasy world, and I’ve been struggling to stay in the same dialect with that too. Anyhoo... I’m rambling... I hope that you enjoy it. Please hit the like, leave me a comment to cry happily over, and follow along for updates. Be safe! Be kind! Stay healthy. Next update is Sunday 7/12... hopefully.)


	13. A Thousand Bows

They had moved Cordelia to the best guest room in the Institute, small but comfortably furnished with a narrow oak bed and a simple writing desk, but pleasantly decorated with blue striped wallpaper and flowery chintz curtains. A lace-skirted sink, with running water, occupied one corner, and a large window stood open to the night and the fragrance of the garden. In the distance, a shimmer of silver indicated the sun on the Thames.

James walked in carrying an impressive stack of literature he’d taken from the library under his arm and in his free hand he carried a lantern illuminated with the soft bluish glow of a witchlight. He saw Cordelia first, her red hair vibrant against the white pillow case. Color had returned to her skin and the thick black veins that ran underneath it were now gone. The thick top quilt was pulled up and tucked around her chest so that her shoulders and arms were out and rested by her sides. She was modestly covered by an ivory cotton gown. Every once in a while, her fingers would twitch against the fabric of the top quilt and it felt as if the weight of the stack of books weighed on James’s chest.

He set the books on the foot of the bed and sat on the wooden stool beside Cordelia. Wishing more than anything, that miraculously, she would open her eyes and turn towards him with a smile.

“ _Dickens, Chaucer, Wilde, Homer, Sophocles,_ ” said Jem as he sifted through the books James had brought. “ _Interesting choices._ ”

“I brought things that might encourage her through the darkness,” said James.

“ _Nothing like a good epic to encourage one through dark times_ ,” said Jem, as he set The Iliad back on the stack. “ _She was administered medicine not long ago, so she is peaceful and still, but do not be alarmed if she cries out. If she begins to sweat or claw at the blankets, come and find someone immediately. If you find yourself growing tired and in need of some rest, you will also need to find someone to take your place_.”

James remembered his father and the fierce devotion he had shown his mother when she had fallen ill after transforming into her clockwork angel during the war. He never left her side, not even to eat or drink, or so James was told by relatives and maids. And any time Tessa would fall ill, succumb to an injury, or give birth, Will remained by her side until she made it back on her feet again. His parents remained his highest example of love and devotion. After nearly twenty years of marriage, they still seemed to illicit in one another the emotions of young love: a bit reckless, always public, possessive, but demure, and full of endless patience. James hoped to one day find a love as eternal as the one his parents shared, and he thought he had when he met Grace Blackthorn. To learn that his feelings were simply the product of an enchanted piece of jewelry left a sinking feeling in his chest. Not because of the loss, his feelings for Grace always felt burdened, troublesome, and lonely. He grieved for the love that had the potential to burn as brilliant as his parents.

A sharp pain burst across the center of James’s forehead. He leaned forward, his eyes shut tight, and tried to rub the pain away.

“ _James_?” Jem came beside him and placed a light hand on his shoulder. “ _What is it? Are you all right_?”

“Yes,” said James. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of head pain is all.”

“ _How long have you had it_?”

“It comes and goes,” said James, and waved his Uncle’s concern away. “Thank you, Uncle Jem. For allowing me to be here with her.”

“ _It is what is best for Cordelia_ ,” said Jem. “ _She needs the familiar voices of the people she is closest to in the world. Your sister was in here not long ago. While I admire Lucie for the incredible talent that she possesses, someone should warn her about her overuse of adverbs_.”

“Are you volunteering?” asked James.

Jem scarred mouth twitched. 

“Coward,” said James and turned to look at Cordelia. “Can she hear us talking? Even now?”

Jem nodded. “ _Yes, I believe she can_.” Jem placed a hand on James’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “ _When I return to administer her medicine, I will bring you a vial for your headache. I’d also like to examine you tomorrow, to be sure it’s nothing serious_.”

Jem left with a quick click of the door when it closed behind him. Now alone with Cordelia, James felt as awkward as he had when he was a fourteen year old school boy attempting to speak to his crush.

With a sigh, he moved the stool closer to Cordelia and the witchlight that flickered on the nightstand. Her fingers twitched against the bed cloth. He picked up the hand closest to him and held it in both of his. Her skin felt so soft. Had it always been so soft, he wondered. Memories of her finger tips grazing his skin in the orange light of the Whispering Room made his mouth run dry. Unsure what possessed him to do such a thing, he brought her hand up to his face and pressed his cheek into her cool palm.

“Daisy, my Daisy.” The name he’d given her didn’t seem to match her anymore, but there was a familiarity in it that he clung to. He hoped that maybe she could cling to it too. “If you’re able, will you grant me the smallest reassurance that you’re alright in there? When we were young, Math and I would communicate through small signals in class when our Instructor would be droning on about the history of runes, which I should have paid closer attention to, but my mind was otherwise detained on some personal dilemmas at the time… Forgive me, I’m rambling.” He brought her hand down.. “Squeeze my hand once if you can hear me?”

His eyes went to her face and watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. He waited for the coveted pressure of her fingers gripping his with the desperation of a sinner languishing for forgiveness.

When it never came, he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “That’s all right. Your focus should only be on healing. I brought some books to share with you. Personal favorites from the library that I thought you might enjoy. Mostly classics, because I thought you might like something familiar and those damned contemporary authors and their quest for enlightenment; squandering on about transcendentalism.

“I thought we could start with…” When he reached for his father’s beloved copy of Great Expectation, he caught a vibrant red leather bound book with gold lettering on the spine that glistened in the light beside the bed.

_Layla and Majnun_

He picked up the copy and stroked the letters with curiosity. He recalled Sona and Alastair calling Cordelia, _Layla_ , but never understood the reference; being so enamored with another woman and his personal throes, he didn’t think to ask.

Cordelia expressed a desire to read it together some day, but under the circumstances, he didn’t think that she would mind.

James kept Cordelia’s hand in his own. With his spectacles perched on the end of his nose, he propped the book against his thighs and opened the cover and found a small inscription on the left hand corner. It read:

**Dearest Layla,**

**I hope this book brings you pleasant company during your travels. You have always wondered and asked why I call you by the name that this most divine tale is titled after, this may bring you some clarity. Please believe that my absence from your life is in no shape your fault and do not burden yourself with trying to understand it. Please know and forever keep in your mind, that I love you and your brother and your mother. Nothing is forever, my darling, we will be together again.**

**Be omide khodâ,**

**Bâbâ**

The words were slightly smudged in some spots, as if water had dropped onto the ink. The pages were all wrinkled and torn in some places. For a moment, it felt to James like he was opening something sacred: a journal, a personalized letter, a love note, but he couldn’t help himself from turning the page. He turned until he found where one should always start a new story— at the very beginning.

As he read, he smiled to himself when he approached the part about when Layla and Majnun first met. It reminded him something of the first time that he saw Cordelia. When he really saw her. Away from the blinding manacle around his wrist. She was beautiful, but more than that, she was pure light. When he approached a passage, his tone slowed:

[His soul was a mirror for Layla’s radiance: how could he keep such reflections to himself? She shone in him like the sun at noon in a cloudless sky: how could such light be concealed? How could he turn away, even for a second, from the only thing that gave meaning to his life? **Kais’*** heart was out of step with his reason, and however hard he tried to hide his love for Layla, he failed miserably. Without her, he felt the arrows of reproach from a thousand bows; without her, the pain of separation cut into his heart like a knife.]

When he finished reading it aloud, he felt the faintest flutter from Cordelia’s hand against his, and when he looked up, her mouth was slightly open. The book nearly tumbled out of his lap as he leaned closer to her.

“Cordelia?” He picked up her hand in both of his again and tightened his hold, bringing it to his chest. “Cordelia, can you hear me?”

Her eyes fluttered back and forth underneath the hoods of her eyes.

“I’m here,” he whispered and climbed into the small space on the bed beside her. Carefully, he tucked her head underneath his chin and straightened the quilt around her again. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

___________________________

The cottage of Cecily and Gabriel Lightwood was a low, thatched building standing amid the fields in an arrangement of a perfectly tended garden. Ivy grew on the green-painted windows, and the eaves and the plastered walls. The front gate hung open, slightly distressed on its posts, and a bicycle lay carelessly toppled against the porch, where two large glazed pots, of the most intense blue, foamed with flowers in hues of Mediterranean pink, orange, and red. The cottage should have inspired only disdain for its tumbledown air, but instead Grace Blackthorn, who was raised to despise her adopted uncle and aunt, found it strangely romantic.

From the rough stones of a back hall, she emerged into the kitchen where a most egregious ruckus was coming. Since arriving at the Lightwood cottage, she’d spent most of her time either in the garden reading or in the kitchen talking to the housemaid who seemed to be the most interesting individual in the house and who didn’t seem to mind Grace’s presence especially after recent truths had risen to the surface like bloated dead fish. The kitchen was always orderly. On a wooden table in the center, a tea urn hissed above its small burner, a stack of old blue and white china teacups waited to be filled. A cake stand held an assortment of the usual small sandwiches and the plain rock cakes that were popular now. Only today, atop the counter, kneeled someone in tweed trousers, one leg bent on the counter and the other outstretched for balance as they reached for something in the cupboards above. She quickly recognized him as the young, illusive Christopher Lightwood.

She leaned her shoulder against the door frame and crossed her arms over her chest.

Since her arrival at the Lightwood’s, she’d rarely seen Christopher. They’d pass each other in the hallways or sit across from each other at meals, but he would be scribbling in a notebook, his face covered in some type of grime. She never attempted a conversation with him considering her relationship with his friend and cousin James. She had the impression that he didn’t care for her so much.

She could hear him whispering to himself. “Where are the damn tongs?”

“Bottom drawer,” said Grace, “to the left.”

There was a terrible clamber as Christopher looked over his shoulder at Grace, resulting in his leg slipping off of the counter. He reached for a ceramic bowl for stability but ended up taking the kitchen utensil down with him. She could not prevent a cry of fear as he hit his back upon the impact.

“Are you all right?” she cried as she ran around the wooden table. “I’m terribly sorry.”

His glasses were askew, as were the dark brown tendrils of hair that mirrored his father’s, fringed at the ends as if burnt. “Fine,” said Christopher after shaking ceramic out of his hair. “I’m fine.”

“Allow me to help you,” she said. Christopher, she had noticed, had the kindest eyes out of all of his friends. She reached her gloved hand out to him.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Christopher, not unkindly, but rather sheepishly. He grabbed a hold of the table’s edge and hoisted himself back to his feet. He brushed his hands off on his trousers, but seemed otherwise unscathed. “Sorry if I disturbed you. I was looking for the—“

“Tongs?” Grace pointed to the drawer by Christopher’s left hip. “They’re in the top drawer. And there is no need to apologize. I was the one who startled you.”

“Not at all.” He turned and opened the kitchen drawer, moved things around a bit, and finally retrieved the tongs from the far back. “A-ha!” He clapped them together several times. “Wonderful. Thank you. Our housemaid likes to hide them from me.”

“Why is that?”

“Possibly because I’ve melted the last several,” he said, and though she could not detect any note of humor, she couldn’t help but laugh into the back of her gloved hand. Christopher looked at her perplexed, his cheeks turned a soft shade of pink.

“Melted them?” she asked. “How on earth did you manage something like that?”

He examined the tongs in his hand. “Uh, it’s difficult to describe.”

“Could you show me?” she asked, shocked by her own bravery, or her desperation to escape her lonely isolation. “I’ve heard so much about your experiments and I really admired your discovery of the cure for demon poisoning.”

“I conduct most of my experiments in my Uncle Henry’s basement,” he said. “He’s not really my uncle, but I’m close enough to Matthew that he might as well be. I have a few experiments in my bedroom, but I don’t think that it would be appropriate for us to be alone in that regard.”

Grace hesitated, but there was no hint of condescension in Christopher’s tone, and his blunt face showed worry in a single vertical crease between his eyes. He was trying to treat her well. She understood that in the past couple of months, or years, she had lost some trust in how people would treat her. She blinked her eyes and nodded once without a word.

“Of course,” she said. “I’m embarrassed for suggesting it.”

“That’s quite all right,” he said, as he examined the tongs. “You must be terribly bored here.”

She was, but she felt it rude to say it. “It was very kind of your parents to allow me to stay in their home considering the grief my dear mother has brought to them.”

“Lucky for you my mother does not share my father’s grudges.” He meant it in fun, but he noticed the dubious look on her face. As she ran her finger through a spilt pile of flour on the counter, he wondered how all of the time he could have mistaken Grace for being so cold and plain when she looked saddened and lost. “Perhaps you could help me with something.”

Her gray eyes lit with curiosity. “With what?”

“I need an assistant to conduct one of my experiments,” said Christopher. “Since Thomas is spending time with his family after their recent loss and the four of us are not meant to be spending too much time together as punishment, but perhaps we can conduct some sort of arrangement for you to be my assistant of sorts. If it’s not too forward to ask.”

Grace fought to keep her emotions respectful, but inside she felt the quick bubble of anticipation that she had not felt in some time swell in her stomach. “As long as I wouldn’t be in the way and your comrades wouldn’t mind us spending the time together.”

“There’s no need for them to know,” said Christopher, straightening his glasses up higher on his nose making his eyes appear abnormally large. “Besides, they don’t seem to take much interest in my experiments anyway. Thomas is with his family. Matthew is under Charles’s watchful eyes, and James is—“ Christopher flushed.

“Is what?” she asked.

She already suspected that they all knew the truth behind the bracelet that she had given to James, but no one cared to ask for her side of the story. Why she did what she did? It was probably for the best. She wasn’t entirely sure she could tell them the truth of it anyway.

“James is with Cordelia.”

“It’s all right.” She pressed her lips together, and began to wonder if it was a mistake to have entered a conversation with him. “What I did was terrible and I won’t pretend to see it otherwise. I understand if you are disinclined to trust me.”

“Can I ask how you did it?” he asked. “How did you enchant the bracelet?”

The question took her off guard. Most people that have approached her with the question asked her why she felt the need to do it. James Herondale was more than inclined to give her his affections on his own; there was no need for an enchanted bracelet. Her answer was often some variation of the same lie.

“I would prefer it if you didn’t ask me that question,” she said. “Only because I cannot answer it. But would it help to know that it wasn’t me who did it?”

“It would,” said Christopher. “It does.

Grace folded her hands in front of her and felt a strange weight removed from her shoulders; grateful that while her truth remained hidden, some of it could be shared with someone else. And while she didn’t believe herself to be entirely innocent, there was some relief in not being entirely guilty either.

The housemaid entered through the swinging doors from the servant’s quarters, humming a Irish melody, which was cut short when she found the two of them in the kitchen. Her cheeks flushed as her watery eyes drifted down to the tongs in Christopher’s hands.

She switched her basket of fresh veggies over to her other hip. “Are you doing the cooking for supper tonight, boy, or are you just polishing the silver again?” she asked. “Because I know you’re not taking my good pair of tongs to use for your little experiments.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s notes: Hello! Thank you for reading. I appreciate each and every one of you for indulging me through this quarantine while I pine and wait for Chain of Iron to be released. So a few things, I think everyone knew the book James reads to Cordelia would be Layla and Majnun... it would have been insulting if it was anything else. If you’re not familiar with the story (I will post a link at the end), Majnun’s name at the beginning of the story is Kais. SPOILER: when Layla and Kais separate, he becomes mad with sadness and the town people call him Majnun, which means ‘madman’, so that’s why in the passage he is referred to as Kais... in case you were wondering. It’s such a beautiful story. I highly recommend everyone to read it. It gives me strong Romeo and Juliet vibes. There are so many variations of the story, but I really liked this one, and I believe it’s mostly accurate to the original source-- correct me if I’m wrong.
> 
> Also, I’m not sure where that Christopher and Grace scene came from. I wanted to experiment with their characters in a friendly way and I wasn’t mad at it, so I thought I’d share. There is a purpose for it in the story. I hope you enjoyed it. As always, if you liked it, please give some kudos, bookmark it, pop in with some comments about what you liked and even what you didn’t. I really appreciate you all. Next update will be Sunday, 7/26. Cordelia is waking up and things are about to get messy.
> 
> You can also follow me on Tumblr: https://theheartsmistakes.tumblr.com


	14. Awake, Awake My Soul

Part XIV  
James and Matthew were hovering outside the Devil’s Tavern, which presented an august Georgian facade to the mundane eyes and was the site of many a municipal meeting and festivity. Or rather, as Matthew acknowledged, James was the one hovering, conspicuous in his anxiety, while Matthew leaned against the inn’s front wall, smoking a cheroot and gazing upward in the annoying way he did when he was overcome with boredom.

The Devil’s Tavern was the only place left in London that none of their parents knew anything about. Not even Will Herondale knew about his son’s inauspicious lease in the tavern and would therefore be the safest, most logical place for them to conduct their research.

“What time did you tell them to be here?” asked Matthew, still musing at something in the sky. “I do wish you’d stop fidgeting.”

“I told them noon,” said James. “But Christopher is not the most reliable man we know.”

“He is the most reliable when something is in need of exploding or a new specimen needs to be collected,” said Matthew. “Perhaps next time tell him that you have an enchanted box that needs to be unlocked.”

“Does this feel wrong to you?” asked James. “We’re supposed to spend this hour patrolling and we’re hiding in The bloody Devil’s Tavern from our parents.”

“This is, in a sort, patrolling,” said Matthew. “We’re conducting research on how to locate your demon granddad and kill the bastard, but in order to do that, we need to find a way for you to access the shadow realm again or it’s all for not. So, we’re doing our job, just not in the way we’re expected to be doing our job.” Matthew slapped James’s hand away from his hair. “I said stop fidgeting.”

“If we’re caught…” James started but couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. While the four of the Merry Thieves agreed that the risk was worth the reward of defying Charles Fairchild’s newly established rules, the risk still hung over James’s head like an anvil waiting to drop. He’d reassured himself time and time again that ordinary chivalry demanded action and that his indignation had more to do with Charles’s complete need for control than the punishment being fair or responsible.

“Oh for Raziel’s sake, we won’t be,” said Matthew. “We’re trained in being discreet, remember?” Just then the door to the Tavern burst open and a head attired with goggles, poked out.

“I don’t see them,” said Christopher before he turned his head to where James and Matthew were standing. He removed his goggles up into his hair, wiped his face with an emerald scarf, and shoved the door open with his shoulder. “What are you two standing out here for? We’ve been waiting for you in the Devil for nearly twenty minutes. Thought the parentals got a hold of you.”

“You’ve been here the whole time?” asked an exasperated James. “We’ve been waiting… never mind. Get inside, quickly, before someone notices us.”

“I must admit, I’m a bit tempted to see how red my brother’s face can get if he catches us deliberately disobeying him,” said Matthew as the sound of boots clambered up the wooden stairs.

“This coming from the one having a crisis over the thought of being strapped to his brother’s desk,” said James over his shoulder. Christopher laughed ahead of them.

“That was before I witnessed my mother make him cry after threatening to strip us of our marks,” said Matthew.

James paused. “She made him cry?”

“Weep,” said Matthew. “I believe the words ‘yes, Mummy’ were said at least twice.”

“You lie!” said Christopher ahead of them.

“I exaggerate, Kit,” said Matthew as they reached their door, “but I never lie.”

The door burst open like a tightly wound jack-in-the-box as the three boys burst into the room. James walked across the room and took a seat at a small table in the window nook while Matthew made himself comfortable on the long sofa. Christopher met James at the table and busied himself with turning over the pages of an old book.

“Where have you lot been?” asked Thomas from the couch. “We’ve been waiting for you for twenty minutes.”

“They were outside,” said Christopher, examining the pages of the book.

James stood, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to expose his forearms, as he walked to the center of the room. “All right, we have only forty minutes left of our patrol to come up with a plan on how to access the shadow world without the use of my useless power.”

“How’s that coming along?” asked Thomas.

“Am I in the shadow realm?”

“No.”

“That’s how it’s coming along.” He pressed his back against the wall opposite Matthew, Thomas, and Christopher. “It’s never felt like this before. Everything that usually works, isn’t. Chaos. Danger. Pain. Isolation. Even when I feared Lucie and Cordelia were trapped there, I still couldn’t push past this invisible wall.”

“Invisible wall?” asked Christopher.

“Yes,” said James. “That’s what it feels like, an invisible wall blocking me.”

“Perhaps you need more fiber in your diet,” grinned Matthew.

James squinted at him, unsure if he was joking, and decided to carry on without acknowledging the statement. “We need to start researching a way into the shadow realm that doesn’t involve my ability.”

The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor turned everyone’s attention towards Christopher as he shoved himself away from the table. “I’ve read about this,” he stated, excitedly. “Pockets. Uh… uh… portals they were called, but they’re like pockets in our realm to other realms. You experienced something like it at the cemetery which allowed Cordelia to access the realm after you and for Matthew and Lucie to draw you back.”

“Brilliant,” said Matthew. “Now that we have an access point, let’s come up with a plan to kill the bloody bastard.”

“Well,” said Christopher, sliding his glasses back up his nose. “We don't necessarily have an access point.”

“You just said—“

“Allow him to finish, Matthew,” said Thomas, looking like a giant inside the low ceiling room. “Go on, Kit.”

“They move.”

“The pockets?” asked James.

“Yes,” said Christopher, his almost sapphire eyes, enlarged by his lenses, glanced around at the faces staring back at him. “They appear in a spot but only remain for 12 to 24 hours.”

“Brilliant,” grumbled Matthew and slipped lower on the couch.

“Is there any way to track these pockets?” asked Thomas, while watching James stand and pace the floor.

“I cannot recall,” said Christopher. “I read about them in the forbidden section of the library at the academy. I was researching alternative methods of travel and found an extensive research that featured combinations of dimensional manipulation.”

“In English, if you would please,” said Matthew, lolling his head to look at Christopher.

“I am speaking English,” said Christopher. “If you are requesting for me to simplify it for you, then be plain about it.”

Matthew rolled his eyes as Thomas asked, “Do you remember what book it was?”

“Of course.”

“Can it be found in a public library?”

“No.” The boys released a communal exhale.

“Well,” said Matthew as he picked a piece of lint on his jade trousers. “It appears we’re left with piss but no pot.”

“Not necessarily,” said Christopher, stepping forward into the center of the room. His eyes locked on his feet the way they often were when deep in thought. “There is someone who might be in possession of a copy or at least has the authority to access one.”

James and Christopher met eyes as they both came to the same solution at exactly the same moment. A smile curved on James’s lips and he chided himself for not thinking of it sooner before allowing disappointment to consume him.

“Are you going to leave us in suspense?” asked Matthew.

“Magnus,” said James. “We’re going to see Magnus.”

. . .

The girl who came through Cordelia’s bedroom door the next morning did not seem strong enough to carry the tray on which rested a cup of tea in a florid porcelain cup and a heavy jug of hot water for the washstand. She was hollow in the cheeks and narrow shouldered, her hair pulled back mercilessly into a single braid. Her dress and apron hung loosely, and her boots looked comically laced to such scrawny ankles.

She hummed to herself as she set the tray on the floor, transferred the jug to the washstand and brought the tea, her lips clamped in concentration to keep the cup from wobbling on its gilded saucer.

“Hello,” said Cordelia, her voice rough from lack of use. “Can you please tell me where I am?”

The girl looked up, her eyes expanded as the tea fell from her hands and shattered on the floor.

Cordelia gasped, as the girl let out a scream so loud, she nearly had to cover her ears. “SHE’S AWAKE! OH BY THE ANGEL, MISS CARSTAIRS IS AWAKE! COME SEE…”

Cordelia grimaced as she braced herself on her elbows and lifted herself up. Every muscle felt as if she’d went to bed sore and hadn’t used them again for several days. The light in the room seemed aged, as if it were late afternoon or early evening. She was used to the pale dawn hours, the birds’ thin choir accompanying her waking thoughts. Curiously, she did not feel guilty for sleeping so late into the morning. The room felt familiar to her. Not the emerald green wallpaper with gold etchings or the leather winged armchair, nor the desk with the stack of books resting closest to the window. A smell in the air reminded her of something. Wherever she was, she felt safe and glad to be there.

“CARSTAIRS IS AWAKE… HURRY! QUICK!” the girl’s voice carried down the other direction of the hall along with the shuffling sound of her absurd boots.

Cordelia shifted to swing her legs out from under the heavy covers when a sharp pain in her side stole her breath.

“Best to stay put,” said a familiar voice by the door. “Until one of the Brothers gets here.”

“Alastair,” cried Cordelia. “Finally, a familiar face. Where am I?”

“The London Institute,” said Alastair, as he stepped into the room in white pin striped pajamas. A wooden crutch tucked under his left armpit as he hobbled on a bandaged foot towards her. “Where we’ve been for the last week or so.”

“Alastair,” said Cordelia, looking at his leg. “What’s happened to your leg?”

“Broke it in three different places after being thrown through the air by that demon.” The bed dipped as he sat down beside her. “Don’t fret, sister, it’s nearly healed. The Brothers want me off it while the bones properly set. I should be good as new by next week. How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” She placed her hand on her rib cage and found an extra layer of padding beneath her nightgown. “Week? You’ve said we’ve been here for the last week?”

His dark eyebrows curved in concern as his eyes looked over her face. “Cordelia, what’s the last thing you remember?”

Cordelia thought about the last memory her mind could conjure. The picture looked muddy and weak in her mind. She’s a young girl running through a patch of daisies on a cliff’s edge, but that couldn’t be right. She’s a woman grown now. Another image of London through a carriage window as the moist air off the Thames hit her face. Ice cream dripping down her hand. Dancing under seductive lights with Cortana. James’s hands on her face as he kissed her on a desk. James kissing Grace. Saying goodbye to James.

“I left,” said Cordelia, closing her eyes to stop the memory. “We left, together. We were going to Alicante.”

“Yes,” said Alastair. “Do you remember what happened after? Do you remember the attack?”

“Attack?” asked Cordelia. “No, I don’t remember any attack. What happened?”

Alastair placed his on top of hers. “Maybe we should wait for Uncle to arrive.”

Cordelia gripped his hand in her own. “Alastair, what happened? What attack? Is everyone all right?”

He opened his mouth to answer when footsteps filled the hall and a chorus of people filtered in through the doorway. A sobbing Sona pushed ahead of everyone and enveloped Cordelia in a hug. Her mother felt weak, frail underneath Cordelia’s hands, she could feel the bones protruding from her shoulders and the bumps of her spine through the thick fabric of her dress. Her shoulder bone bumped Cordelia’s chin as she peered over it to see her Uncle Jem, dressed in his robes and quiet as a statue against the wall. In front of him stood Tessa Gray beside her husband Will. She watched the doorway, hoping and dreading, for James to walk through.

When he did not, she closed her eyes to stop the burn behind them and the pit that grew ever wider inside of her stomach.

“My darling, are you all right?” Sona asked, caressing Cordelia’s cheeks and hair. Cordelia noted the hollowness in her mother’s cheeks.

“I think so,” said Cordelia. “Alastair was just telling me about an attack?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No,” said Cordelia and looked to her Uncle. “I don’t remember anything past leaving the Institute with Alastair for Alicante.”

“It’s not uncommon for some memory loss to occur after the sort of head injuries she endured,” said a quiet voice inside of her mind, but everyone else seemed to hear it too as they all turned to Brother Zachariah. “With some rest and recollection of events, the memories may return to her.”

Sona sat on the bed beside Cordelia, their hands still joined. “You were attacked by a demon. It poisoned you with a barb in your rib cage. When Lucie and James found you, you were nearly dead from your injuries.”

Cordelia pressed her hand harder against her ribs until she felt the sharp pain of a recent injury under the pressure. “Why did it attack our carriage? Demons don’t normally just attack a random carriage.”

“We were hoping that you could tell us,” said Will across the room. “We’ve tried to locate it, but it left no other traces of itself except for the attack against you and your brother. No other sightings. No suspicious activity. Alastair can only recall up to the point of being thrown by the thing, but you were still conscious at that point. We thought maybe you killed it before succumbing to your injuries, but the lack of demon blood at the scene suggests otherwise.”

Cordelia closed her eyes and attempted to stumble through her memories again. She recalled arriving with Alastair to the Herondale manor. Alastair walking her to the door with an umbrella to shield her from the pouring rain. She was trembling at the thought of what she was about to do, of what she was about to lose. Alastair offered to go in with her, but she declined.

She couldn’t recall who answered the door or how she got up the stairs to the library where James often hid away from the world in the comfort of his father’s collection of books. She couldn’t recall knocking, but she remembered him answering the door and the orange glow of the firelight that matched the color of his eyes. She remembered the relief in those eyes when it was she he opened the door to.

She could vaguely remember the words that were said, or when she left him, or finding herself back in the carriage with Alastair, but the look in his eyes when she said goodbye would remain with her forever.

“No.” She cleared her throat. “No, I’m sorry. The last thing that I remember is leaving here after saying goodbye to James.”

“It’s all right,” whispered Sona as she stroked Cordelia’s hair. “You’ve only just woken up. Perhaps after you’ve had something to eat and talked with Lucie, or James, something will return to you.”

The feeling of something she needed to do sparked at the mention of her old friend. She needed to talk to Lucie.

“Lucie stepped out for the morning,” said Tessa, eyeing Cordelia sympathetically, “but she’s due to return any moment. She’ll be overjoyed to know that you’re awake.”

“And James?” Sona asked.

“On patrol,” answered Will, with a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. “He won’t be back until this evening.”

Cordelia looked away, at her brother’s bandaged leg, at the tear in the hem of her nightgown, at the rune etched into the top of her bare foot, as the memories of her last conversation with James crashed into her.

“I wanted so badly to marry you,” she said. “But a year with you, as your wife, is not possibly long enough.”  
The thought of speaking to James after their last conversation left a stone in Cordelia’s stomach, but perhaps it was for the best if she were to be staying in London while they both mended. If any one in the room knew of what transpired between James and Cordelia that last night, they weren’t letting on. Rubbing at the wound on her ribs, she searched the faces around her and found only concern and sympathy looking on at her. A wood pigeon, always the cello in the orchestra of birdsong, gave out its low double coo from the open window, like a beat from a large drum, which began to vibrate in her chest, and she thought it would have been very pleasant just to have remained asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! I’m back. I hope you all are doing well. It’s been truly a strange couple of weeks dealing with the aftermath of the death of my beautiful niece (God, that will never get easier to say or write), but we are mending as a family and working towards moving forward through the grief. I’ve been able to spend a lot of time with my sister and my nephew, just trying to keep them busy, but the past few weeks have settled down a little bit allowing me a chance to write and get back into a few projects that I have in the works. Thank you all for the kind words, and well-wishes, and your patience. I’m really excited to be back writing and posting again. I hope you enjoyed this installment. If you did please give it a like, hit me with a lovely comment, and bookmark this so you can follow along with me. Next installment is coming Sunday 9/6.
> 
> You can also come say hi here:  
> Tumblr: theheartsmistakes


	15. The Devil May Care

Lucie’s Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel’s house was an old brick-fronted Georgian house near the railway station. A suite of severe bottle green horsehair furniture occupied the dark-paneled front room, and Lucie tried not to slide about as she waited perched on the edge of a curlicued sofa. Heavy curtains disguised the elegance of the large windows and stopped the sun from penetrating. A thick Turkey rug in shades of purple and brown added notes of affluence. As she waited, she grew quietly more agitated at the impending conversation she had been practicing since dawn with Grace Blackthorn, of all people. She wished she had the moral strength, or the disciple to stay away as Jesse had requested, but considering what he requested was frot with idiocy and a cruelty unlike himself, she decided to ignore it. Still, after three days of his absence, she could almost feel him smirking in disapproval behind her, but without the courage to face her.

Or perhaps he was being as stubborn as she was.

Impossible, she was far more stubborn.

At last a door opening in the paneling and Aunt Cecily with her dark hair curled and pinned to rest against the nape of her neck, arrived with Grace following behind her. The girl always reminded Lucie more of a ghost than her brother ever did.

“I’ll have some tea brought in,” said Aunt Cecily. “You girls let me know if there is anything else I can bring you.”

“Thank you,” said Lucie, without taking her eyes off of Grace, as her Aunt quietly left the room. When the door clicked shut behind her, Lucie removed her gloves one at a time and placed them on the wooden coffee table in front of her. “And thank you for agreeing to meet with me. My aunt says that you haven’t been accepting much company. Is that because they all know what a conniving monster you are and you’re afraid of what they’ll say... or because you’re embarrassed by what they know?”

“Can it be both?” Grace asked down at her folded hands.

Lucie tilted her head. “You don’t get to sit up here and feel sorry for yourself.”

“That’s not what—“

“Not when my friend is lying on her death bed because of your selfish actions,” she said, straightening her posture as the maid walked in with a silver tray of tea and freshly baked biscuits. “Would you like some tea?” asked Lucie with contempt.

Grace shook her head.

“What you did was utterly abhorrent,” started Lucie, as she poured herself a cup. “Shackling my brother with some dark magic when he was nothing but a stupid, idiotic boy, without the brains or know-how to refuse a beautiful girl; all these years just stringing him along like a lost dog to use for your entertainment when you felt like it. Then, when he was finally free of you; engaged to the most perfect of humans to walk the earth since Raziel himself, and you kiss him, in front of his betrothed.”

“I can explain,” said Grace, though she kept her eyes on her hands which Lucie could now see were trembling.

“I didn’t come here for shallow explanations,” said Lucie, surprised by her cruelty. “If you wish to confess your sins then find a church, I am not here to pardon you. I am here about your brother.”

Grace’s eyes lifted then and widened at Lucie’s words.

“Jesse Blackthorn,” said Lucie. “And don’t bother telling me that he’s dead and has been for years, I already know all of this. What I want to know is where you have his body and your plan for resurrecting him?”

Grace peered at her closely as if looking for signs of madness.

While Lucie would have much rather found this knowledge out herself, she’d come to realize after hours of laborious concentration that if she were going to bring Jesse back from the dead without the last breath of his life, then she was going to need some assistance. And since Jesse, the heartless coward, was no longer responding to her, she decided that the only person in the world that she could possibly alliance herself with was Grace. Grace who lived with the corpse of her dead brother for years inside a dusty old manor. She realized that he may never speak to her again if she did manage to raise him from the dead, but at least he’d be alive.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Grace. Still looking slightly confused. If Lucie didn’t know better, she might believe her blank expression.

“Since you’ve stained yourself an unbelievable liar and a pathetic loner, I’m going to tell you a secret of mine that no one else in the entire world knows aside from my awful brother, but before I disclose this information, if I find out that you’ve told a soul what I’m about to tell you, I will tell everyone what Cordelia and I walked into that night before she left,” said Lucie, looking Grace directly in her solemn silver eyes. “I will destroy your reputation beyond repair that not even Charles Fairchild will stand to look at you.”

Grace’s face dropped, horrified.

“I can commune with the dead,” said Lucie, and sipped her tea. “Your brother,” she willed herself to say his name, “Jesse. I’ve been talking to him for months now. He saved my brother’s life with his last breath that he’d been keeping for himself, for that I owe him more favors than I can possibly repay in this lifetime. I want to help bring him back.”

Grace, who wore an expression, as if Lucie had reached across the room and slapped her suddenly blinked after a long time of not. “Is he here now?”

“No,” said Lucie. “We’re not on speaking terms at the moment. He’s being stubborn. Though, I suspect he’s not far away.”

Grace released a ghost of a laugh that sounded more like a breath. “He’s always been quite stubborn, Jesse. Always.” She gave Lucie a solemn look that roused in her the slightest trickle of sympathy for the girl she considered her enemy. “But I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

“Why not?” Lucie rose as Grace did, preparing to block her path from leaving the room. “Don’t you want to see Jesse alive again? Isn’t that why your mother has been preserving his body all this time? You’ll just leave him to settle in-between realms when he so utterly deserves to return to this one?”

“Of course I want to see my brother alive again,” said Grace. “But you don’t understand what you’re asking.”

Lucy set her teacup and saucer down on the table and straightened again. “I know exactly what I’m asking. I’m not naive enough to think this isn’t dangerous or ridiculous, but I’m also desperate enough to believe that it will work. And since you’ve made yourself quite the social pariah of our small circle, I’m offering you something of a partnership.”

Grace smoothed her pale hands over her lace skirt, embroidered with snowflakes made of gold thread along the hem. “And what would James or Cordelia think of this partnership?”

Without hesitation, Lucie answered. “They needn’t know of it.”

Grace sunk back down onto the sofa, her quicksilver eyes focusing on the teapot in the center of the silver tray as she spoke. “My mother, she was an awful woman— is an awful woman. A tyrant and a bully, but she was not always that way. The world was cruel towards her since her childhood. Death always knocking on her door, but never for her, just for those she loved. It made her cruel and vicious.”

Lucie fought the urge to insist that she already knew all of this and move Grace towards the part where she agreed to help, but she reached for a biscuit instead.

“Death begets death begets death. Did he not tell you, my illusive brother? You cannot take from death without giving to death first and sometimes it takes more than its share.” Grace twisted a silver ring around her middle finger. “I’ll help you, but I’ll ask you first Lucie Herondale, only once and never again, what are you willing to lose to death for the return of my brother? What life are you willing to exchange for his?”

The biscuit turned to ash in her mouth and it took a great effort for her to swallow. Names flashed before her eyes: her mother, her father, James, Cordelia, Uncle Jem, her aunts, uncles, cousins, friends… But before she could answer, her aunt Cecily appeared in the doorway, a letter in the hand that rested at her side.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you girls, but your mother’s sent word,” said Cecily to Lucie. “Cordelia is awake and she’s asking for you.”

Lucie stared out the carriage window the entirety of the drive home, her hands fussing with the fabric of her skirts as London went by out the carriage window. Her thoughts flooded with what Grace had told her about bringing Jesse back from the dead. If what she’d told her was true, and she wasn’t entirely sure that it was, she’d need to find another solution and soon.

Why didn’t Jesse tell her? She wondered. Why didn’t he say anything? He must have known and instead of simply explaining what it would cost to bring him back from death, he ran away like a petulant child.

Recovering her composure by taking a steady breath through her nose and out her mouth, Lucie tried to think about her situation in a less objective way. It was a trick her father had taught her as a child when she was sad or angry. To analyze the problem in a larger, more empirical way would, he always said, improve her mood and her intellect at the same time. Though she now thought it possibly a very unsuitable response to a crying child, she often found herself rearranging her problems as if planning to present them in a small treatise.

Besides, she couldn’t think about her situation with Jesse now. There was a more pressing matter at hand. Cordelia was awake. And Lucie's intricate web of lies to keep Belial’s agenda unknown until she could figure out how to bring Jesse back to life and anyone finding out about her ability would only draw unwanted attention to herself. She needed to know how much Cordelia remembered of what Belial said to Lucie and how much she’d already told the others.

Lucie was out of the carriage before the driver could open the door for her. She gathered her skirts in her hands and took the marble steps two at a time and burst through the doors and nearly slid to a halt on the wood floors as her eyes befell Cordelia standing by the front window between her mother and Alastair.

All of Lucie’s worries suddenly vanished like steam from hot tea into open air.

Cordelia looked a vision standing in front of the floor to ceiling stained glass window, cut with colors to look like a lake with a shining angel hovering above it. Lucie took in every detail in her mind to use in her writing later: elegant in a pink silk dress that hugged her frame. Her vibrant red hair had been twisted back in a coronet with tightly wound curls hanging in her face. Her skin lush with color in her cheeks and her eyes were alert as they caught Lucie. A sad smile broke across Cordelia’s face as she looked upon her friend.

“I’m sorry!” Lucie shrieked and ran the rest of the way towards her friend with arms outstretched. Cordelia opened her own and welcomed Lucie without hesitation. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I should have been—“

“Careful, Lucie,” said Tessa sitting on the couch between her father and Uncle Jem. “Cordelia is still healing.”

Lucie cursed, which earned her another scolding from both of her parents this time.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated to no one and everyone.

Cordelia’s smile brightened as Lucie released her and stepped back. “It’s alright. I’m not as fragile as they’ll have you believe.”

“She is,” said Sona, who also appeared healthier than when Lucie had seen her last. “She won’t admit it, but she is.”

“I will mind myself perfectly,” promised Lucie, with a nod. She made a face only Cordelia could see and understand, earning herself a laugh from her oldest friend.

“May we have a moment,” asked Cordelia to the people in the room. “I wish to speak to Lucie alone, if that’s all right.”

Sona looked to be about ready to disagree, but Alastair took her hand and led her towards the doorway that went into the dining hall. Tessa, Will, and Jem followed after leaving Cordelia and Lucie alone.

“Should we sit?” asked Lucie. “Are you still in terrible pain?”

“Not so much anymore,” said Cordelia, as she lowered herself onto the sofa. Though the way she angled her body showed that she favored her left side some. Sitting beside Cordelia, Lucie could see what she could not before. The dark shadows underneath Cordelia’s once bright and vibrant eyes, now dull by what she’d seen; what had happened to her. The dryness of her once smooth lips. The veins in her neck and dark bruising along her chest that peaked out from the lace collar of her dress.

The memory of finding Cordelia collapsed in the sand at the feet of Belial, like a broken doll, assaulted Lucie. Her mouth went dry and her eyes burned as the sound of her screaming Cordelia’s name through the wind echoed in her ears.

“You look well,” said Lucie, her throat tight and unlike herself. “You didn’t miss much while you were asleep. We were all scolded something terrible for going after you without informing the adults. We’re all on a strict curfew and cannot go out in large groups unless it’s for something mundane.” She reached forward and took a biscuit from the center of the coffee table. She took a bite and chewed for a moment, dusting the crumbs from her skirt, thinking of a way to approach the Belial subject without frightening Cordelia back into a coma. “Probably for the best. My brother and his band of— whatever they call themselves— can use a little restriction.”

Cordelia tensed a fraction, but enough for Lucie to notice. She quickly went over her words to see what she might have said and realized that her delinquent brother was not amongst the people in the room when she’d arrived.

“You haven’t spoken to him?” asked Lucie.

Cordelia shook her head.

“Good,” said Lucie. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Consider me your personal guard. I will shield you from his presence at all times.”

Cordelia’s mouth twitched at the corner. “Thank you,” she said, “but I think it’s important that we talk if I’m going to be staying here a bit longer with my family.”

“A bit longer?” Lucie inhaled. “You’re still leaving for Alicante?”

Cordelia nodded. “Once everything settles down and I remember what it is that happened to me inside the shadow realm with your— with Belial.”

Lucie could not restrain a slight start of shock. “You— you don’t remember anything?”

Cordelia only shook her head, those intricate curls falling across her face as she looked down at her hands. “I only remember leaving the institute with Alastair and then everything goes dark. Brother Zachariah said that it’s not uncommon for memory loss and that what I might have suffered was traumatic.” She said the word as if she didn’t quite trust it. “It’s the mind’s way of protecting itself. They told me that you were there. That you rescued me.”

Lucie could hear her heart beat in her ears as she met the expectant eyes of Cordelia, searching for the pass that would free her of London, James, Belial, and the memories that came with all three.

When Cordelia left that fateful night after finding Grace and James in the throws of passion, and Cordelia told Lucie that she was leaving with Alastair to return to Alicante indefinitely, she’d been overwhelmed with a dreadful loneliness that she often felt as a child when James would dismiss her to play with the other boys including Anna, and all Lucie had were her stories. While stories were a wonderful place to spend her time, some intrinsic part of her craved companionship, if not someone to share her stories with.

And then she met Cordelia, and not only did she have someone to share her stories with, but she had someone to fill her stories with. She wanted to write many more adventures of the beautiful Cordelia; their adventures as parabatai, when it was unexpectedly ripped away from her.

And now, she was being presented a second chance. But, as with everything, it came with a terrible price.

“Lucie?” said Cordelia, as if she’d been saying it for some time. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Lucie nodded and reached to take Cordelia’s hand in her own.

“They said that you brought me back from the Shadow realm?” asked Cordelia. “How? What did Belial say? Why did he want me?”

“He was after James.” And there went another strand to the web of her lie. Lucie released Cordelia’s hand and smoothed out her skirt. “I suppose word got around of your engagement. Apparently even in the Shadow Realm, engagements announcements do not go unnoticed. He thought that if he captured you it would draw James out of hiding, but instead I arrived. I tried to kill him, but he cannot be killed by earthly or heavenly weapons, and since I have nothing to offer Belial, he threatened to kill us both and return our corpses.” She went on perfecting her story as if she were writing at her desk and not lying to her friend. “He was about to do it too, but I managed to convince him that wasn’t in his best interest. If he killed me then he’d never gain access to James. So, he settled for your life instead. You did a wonderful job convincing him of your death. I, for a moment, believed it myself. The next thing I know, we were falling through what appeared to be a dark tunnel and when I opened my eyes again, we were back on the street. James found us moments later.”

Cordelia frowned. “He was after James?”

“Yes,” said Lucie, taking another bite of her biscuit. “Poor company that brother of mine. Biscuit?”

Cordelia shook her head and while she asked no further questions, Cordelia seemed to ponder Lucie’s story.

The door to the foyer burst open followed by a cacophony of loud voices and even more obtrusive footsteps as Thomas and Christopher walked into the Institute, arguing with someone over their shoulder about being five minutes late.

“Thank you for this information, Thomas” said Matthew following behind them. “Years of academia and study and I never did manage to learn how to tell time.”

James emerged last, his hands tucked in his trouser’s front pockets, as he extended his leg back to close the door. A smile curved on his mouth that did not reach his eyes then wandered towards the sitting room where Lucie remained beside Cordelia, watching her friend intensely.

Cordelia stood, her dress falling around her ankles, her fingers gliding over the fabric as she said, “Hello James.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind words and coming back to The Last Night after my hiatus. I hope you all are doing well. We are finally getting back into some Jordelia moments, and I for one am very excited about it. Please drop some kudos, a comment, and follow along with me for more updates. Next chapter comes on Sunday 9/13.


	16. I'm a Dandelion, You're a Four Leaf Clover

When Cordelia was just a small girl, her father would play a game with her. Cordelia would run as fast as she could in the yellow shoes her mother despised, but she loved, her arms stretched out from her sides flapping like a featherless bird, towards her father squatting on the ground a few feet away from her. When she’d be nearly to him, she’d leap from the ground with a faith only a child could muster into his waiting hands where he would toss her over his head in the air. There was this moment, when she would be suspended in the air just before momentum died and gravity’s pull dragged her back down, that everything went quiet around her. Everything went still. When all she could see was the horizon in front of her and her father’s embrace below. And she’d come falling back down to earth. A laughing star with a red tail and bright yellow shoes. 

The moment Cordelia’s eyes fell upon James, she felt the weightless suspense of being hugged by the wind just before it released her back to the ground, except no awaiting arms were there to catch her and she came hurtling to the ground.

He looked so handsome— when he ever didn’t, she wasn’t sure— with his dark curls pushed back away from his face and a lingering smile on his lips. He wore gear up to his neck, black except for the silver buckles of his vest strapped across his chest and a red scarf around his neck. The hilts of his throwing knives glistened in the warm light coming through the window and from the ball-shaped orbs that hung from chains above him, flickering with burning witchlights. The words she’d been rehearsing to herself since the moment she woke up seemed to evaporate like steam from hot tea out of her mind.

Thankfully, words were no longer necessary as Matthew crossed the threshold of the foray into the sitting room, past James whose eyes never managed to leave hers, as he said, “You’re awake. Splendid. Things have been awfully dull without your joyful presence.” Matthew grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed a light kiss to both of her cheeks before reaching around her and patting Lucie on the head earning himself a shove into the couch. “Where have you been all morning?” Matthew directed at Lucie.

“That is my business,” said Lucie, smoothing her hair, “and mine alone. Where have you lot been?”

Matthew waved a hand down his body clad in black gear except his was stitched with gold thread that matched the color of his hair. He rested his knee high boots on the coffee table rattling the tray of tea and biscuits, bits of mud flecked off onto the glass. “We were out at the theater enjoying a matinee…”

While their banter continued on, James stumbled towards Cordelia. His foot catching the footstool as he came hurtling towards her.

Cordelia stifled a laugh and stepped forwards away from the window to meet him in the center of the room. 

“You look,” he swallowed and his hand raised, paused, before he ran it through his own hair, “you look better.”

“Better?” Cordelia ran her hands over the fabric of her skirt. “Well, I should hope so. A few days in a magically induced coma does wonders for one's complexion.”

“I shall no longer be calling you Daisy then,” he said.

Her eyebrows jumped. “No?”

“No,” smiled James. “Perhaps I shall call you Sleeping Beauty.”

“Perhaps you should  _ not _ ,” said Cordelia appalled, having read the French classic in her youth and despising the damsel for being insolent enough to touch the spinning wheel and then not being able to manage herself out of the sleep she put herself in. “I am not a damsel to be woken with a kiss.” 

No, no, she was the prince riding on the mount and climbing the towers and fighting the evil that existed in the world. 

The corner of James’s mouth lifted in a sad smile. “No,” he said, leaning forward so only she could hear him. “You never did require anyone’s rescuing.”

The memory of ice cream dripping down her hand, the warmth of the sun on her cheeks, and the excitement of their joined rebellion only moments ago; along with the way that James was looking at her now, like she wasn’t quite real, sent a familiar warmth through Cordelia. 

“Will you be staying in London?” he asked, folding his hands behind his back. “Or will you be leaving for Alicante soon?”

“Staying,” said Lucie from behind her, abandoning her raillery with Matthew to join in their conversation, much to James’s chagrin which he failed to hide from his face. “For sometime, at least until we can recover her memories of the shadow realm.”

“Recover her memories?” asked Matthew, a biscuit crumbling over the front of his gear. “Has she lost them?”

Cordelia slid a glare in Lucie’s direction. Lucie raised her shoulders innocently. “Was I not supposed to say anything? They would have found out eventually.”

“Charles is requesting that we remain in London until my memories of the events return in the case that it provides them with information about Belial,” she said to both boys. “Also, he wants us to remain close in case he attempts an attack on us again.”

“Interesting,” mused Matthew.

“Yes,” said James, his eyes wandered over Cordelia. “How did you lose your memories?”

“No, not that,” said Matthew as he stood and came to stand beside James. “My brother actually did the right thing for once. I find that interesting. Where is Christopher? It seems we may have jumped into another dimension without the help of the book.”

Ignoring Matthew, James waited for Cordelia’s reply. “I’m not sure,” she said. “The last thing I remember is getting into the carriage with Alastair after I left… after talking with you.”

A muscle moved in James’s jaw and for the first time, he looked away from Cordelia and down at his boots. A fine, ebony curl fell in his face. 

“What book?” demanded Lucie. 

Matthew’s pale eyebrows jumped as he glanced at James. “It would appear as if my impeccable sense of humor has found me in trouble yet again.”

“I’d suggest keeping your mouth shut,” sighed James. “But I fear the words would be wasted and the attempt futile.”

“What book?” Both girls asked.

“Keep your voice down,” said Matthew, glancing over his shoulder, across the room where the door to the dining room led, and then suspiciously at Church curled up on the chair beside the fire. “There are ears everywhere.”

Lucie placed her hands on her hips. “What are you four up to? Tell me. Tell me now or I’ll tell Mam and Pa that you’re keeping secrets behind their back.”

James glared at his sister as he used to do when they were children and Lucie desperately wanted him to be the villain in the live production of her latest playwright or novella. He seemed to be contemplating if Lucie’s threat was legitimate or a bluff. Cordelia knew the truth, Lucie would never purposefully sabotage her brother, but rather learn of his secrets on her own if he wouldn’t reveal them freely. However, scaring the information out of him was a much easier and faster tactic. 

James exhaled and whipped his scarf off his shoulders, casually tossing it on the couch. “If you must know, we are in search of a book that will help us locate  _ portals  _ into other realms.” He glanced at Cordelia. “As well as something that may help us learn how to kill Belial.”

“Portals?” Lucie glanced between Matthew and James. “Like the one at the cemetery?”

“Yes,” said James while Matthew nodded enthusiastically.

“Why not just use the portal at the cemetery then?” asked Lucie.

“Because that would be far too easy and nothing in our lives is ever that simple,” said Matthew. 

“Portals can move or vanish,” explained James. “They don’t stay in one place for long and they’re incredibly difficult to track.”

“The closest one could be in the dreaded Americas,” said Matthew with a look of distaste. 

“We also don’t fully understand how they work just yet,” said James. “We don’t know what realm we would be stepping into, we don’t know what exists in those realms, and we don’t know how to return to this one.”

Cordelia, who remained quiet through their confession, asked, “Where is this book?”

James turned to her and she felt her bleeding heart quicken in response. “We’ve called upon Magnus Bane. We’re awaiting his response.”

“Called upon?” asked Lucie. “He’s one of Mam and Pa’s dearest friends. He spent the holidays with us when we were children. Why not just go knock on his door if you needed help.”

“Matthew didn’t want to seem rude,” said James.

“The warlock has blue smoke coming out of his fingertips,” said Matthew in distress. “He is a legend. You simply do not waltz up to a legend’s front door and demand a look in his library. I’ve heard of him turning people into toads for much less.”

“Also,” said James, shaking his head at Matthew. “We need to come up with a version of the truth that won’t have him running to our parents about our plans.”

“You need a lie?” asked Cordelia.

“‘A version of the truth’ he said,” cried Matthew. “We cannot lie to a high warlock. He’ll see right through us like cheap cotton.”

“Use me,” said Cordelia. The three of them looked to her with drawn eyebrows and still looks. “I heard Charles talking to Jem about possible ways of retrieving my memories and Magnus’s name came up, briefly, before Charles denied the help of a warlock even on such pressing matters. We could go to his flat and ask for assistance searching through my mind. James can ask to go into the library while he waits and search for the book. Magnus won’t think anything of it since James loves books.”

The perturbed looks did not evaporate once she was finished. Lucie turned her back to Cordelia, her eyes locked on her feet.

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Matthew, the first to speak. “That’s not a bad idea at all. A much better idea than Christopher’s, who suggested one of us poison ourselves and seek an antidote from him.”

“That was your idea,” said James and stepped towards Cordelia. With the distance between them shortened, Cordelia could see the faint dusting of freckles across his cheekbones. The air carried the smell of him towards her: sandalwood, the leather of his gear, and old books. It was enough to make her sway. “Are you sure, Cordelia? You’ve not been awake for twenty four hours yet. Shouldn’t your mind have time to heal?”

Jem had mentioned something to Charles about it being dangerous to reach into Cordelia’s mind while she healed and that she should have a few weeks to recover to see if the memories returned on their own without intervention. When Charles didn’t accept his warning, Jem offered the name Magnus Bane knowing that Charles would bristle. It worked. Charles agreed to wait until Cordelia’s mind had time to heal before the Silent Brothers would go prodding through her memories in search of something she, herself, could not see.

But she wanted to be of assistance to her friends now. And if she was being absolutely honest, she wanted revenge. He’d nearly killed Alastair and herself. He did kill their carriage driver and dear friend of the Herondale’s. Belial kidnapped her in order to gain access to James and she would not allow it to happen again. If she could find out why. Remember what he told her--

“James is right,” said Lucie interrupting her thoughts. “It’s not safe. You should rest and gain your strength. We’ll help them find another way to retrieve the book.”

“There’s no time,” she said. “Besides, who knows if waiting will draw the memories out or shut them in tighter. I think the earliest we gain access to them the better.”

Lucie offered her a tight smile and inhaled. “Excellent,” she said, but her tone suggested otherwise. “We’ll wait for Magnus to return with an invitation and then we’ll go.”

“Go?” The four of them turned to find Tessa standing in the foray with Will, Alastair, and Sona behind her. Her eyes danced between them. “Going where exactly?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed post. It's been a rough week, so thank you for everyone's patience and I'm so sorry if you were confused. This part isn't entirely finished. There will be a part 2 with a conversation between James and Cordelia. There were things I needed to set up in this chapter that resulted in them not really having a chance to talk one-on-one, but they have a lot to discuss. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Leave it some kudos, a comment, and follow along for my next update.  
> As always, thank you for reading!


	17. I Need To Know

“Into town,” said Lucie, her voice pitching on the last word, in answer to her mother’s question. “We thought it might refresh Cordelia’s memories if we went to the location of the attack.”

Cordelia balked at the idea of returning to the place where she and Alastair almost died. She must have been making some kind of expression because Lucie deemed it necessary to deliver a kick to her ankle. She hissed but forced a smile.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” asked Sona. “You’ve only just woken up. Perhaps you should rest a bit longer. Your injuries are not yet fully healed and you look in pain, darling.”

That’s because she was, but not for the reason her mother thought. Her ankle throbbed where Lucie had kicked it.

“I’ve rested for nearly a week,” said Cordelia. “I think some fresh air and a bit of walking will be beneficial. Besides, James and Matthew will be joining us.”

Both boys jolted at the mention of their names as if they hadn’t entirely been paying attention to the conversation unfolding in front of them.

“Of course,” said James with a nod. “The streets were calm during our patrol so there shouldn’t be much to worry about, Mrs. Carstairs.”

Sona’s eyes shifting between James and Cordelia and Cordelia could swear she saw a glimmer of hope in her mother’s eyes at the two of them standing together in the center of the room. “Well, that should be fine, but not for too long.”

“We’ll be home in time for supper,” said Lucie.

“I’ll alert Charles that we’ve permitted the four of you go out for a while,” said Tessa, turning back towards the dining room door. “If it’s in an attempt to retrieve Cordelia’s memories, he shouldn’t throw too much of a fit about it. But I feel inclined to say, please do not give him any reason to see through with his threats.”

“Don’t worry,” said Matthew who threw an arm around James’s shoulders. “We’ll make sure these girls stay on their best behavior.”

Tessa turned to as if she was going to say something sharp to the two boys, but Will gently urged her through the dining room door before she could.

Alastair escorted his mother to her room so that she could have a rest. He’d abandoned the pinstripe pajamas for a pair of dark tweed trousers and a simple white buttoned shirt that he left untucked. His feet were bare, with the one still wrapped in a thick cloth bandage, as he offered one arm to his mother and the other rested on his wooden crutch that lightly tapped the ground as he walked. Cordelia felt a sharp twinge of pain in her chest for leaving him alone to help look after their mother when he needed assistance himself, but she knew he wouldn’t accept such assistance. The broad slope of his shoulders caved slightly as if the weight of the world rested upon them. It occurred to her in that moment when he was walking their mother to her room that Alastair didn’t bear the weight of one single world upon his shoulders, but the weight of many. Her own included.

The thought made her ache.

“Cordelia?” A hand gripped her elbow, drawing her back to the sitting room, and she turned to find James looking down at her. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she sniffed and blinked the tears away from her eyes. “Just a bit of pain in my ribs is all.”

“Do you need Jem?” he asked and his hand slid down her elbow to grip her hand. “Or an iratze?”

“No,” she squeezed his hand to stop him from pulling her along. “No, it’s alright. It’s nothing. We should prepare to leave since we’re going to the place of my attack apparently.”

Lucie grimaced. “I’m sorry. I panicked and it was the first thing that came to mind. We don’t have to go there, Cordelia. Perhaps you and I can go for a nice stroll through the park, maybe do a bit of window shopping.” Lucie glared down at James’s hand still holding Cordelia’s and then her gaze slithered up to her brother’s.

“I have an idea,” said Matthew. “Cordelia, have you ever driven in an automobile?”

“No!” Both James and Lucie shouted at Matthew who barely batted an eye at the other two while he waited for Cordelia’s response.

She grinned. “No, I can’t say that I have. They seem dreadful.”

“Quite the opposite,” said Matthew. “The epitome of absolute freedom and mobility. I think a spot of fresh air will do all of us some good. Come along, Luce, you can help me bring Algernon around.”

“Algernon?” Cordelia asked.

“Yes, he’s named his vehicle after an Oscar Wilde character,” said James.

“His vehicle?” Cordelia balked.

James nodded. “We’ve quite a bit to catch you up on, Daisy.”

“I’d say so,” she sighed and watched as Matthew dragged a disparaged Lucie along with him out the front door.

“I would like to give you something,” said James, his fingers flexed against hers. “If you’ll come with me for a moment.”

Cordelia turned so that they were facing one another. “What is it?”

“Come along, Daisy” said James nodding his head towards the hallway leading farther into the institute. “We won’t be long.”

She gathered what semblance of courage she had left in her and let him guide her down the hall. The crystal orbs that hovered above them in a line down the length of the hallway flickered and waned to life upon their approach. Witchlight, she noted, by the warm glow it emitted like magic in their presence, lighting the darkness and displaying the vibrant red wallpaper with gold hand painted brush strokes of two swords crossed over each other in a pattern. Each sword, Cordelia noticed, had a different hilt. No two were the same. Some of the weapons were French with the delicate, ostentatious metal hilt. Some were Scottish with the curved blade instead of straight. She expected nothing else of Will Herondale’s house but to have weapons painted on the walls. 

“Just through here,” said James as they came to a stop in front of an old door that appeared to be made of oak or some other type of ancient wood. Three swords, two crossed like those painted on the walls and one down the center hung in the middle of the door. Upon closer inspection, Cordelia recognized them to be the same chosen weapons of Jonathon Shadowhunter and his parabatai David, the sword going down the center belonged to Jonathon’s sister Abigail.

“Exact replicas,” said James as he shouldered open the heavy door. “Useless in battle since they’ve been welded to this door since the birth of the Institute, much to my father’s great chagrin, but a great conversation starter.” He gave the center sword a tug for emphasis.

The temperature dropped significantly on the other side of the door. Gooseflesh prickled along Cordelia’s skin as she stepped into the dark stairway going down towards the basement of the Institute. She knew now where he was taking her. The weapons room. She’d been there before with Lucie, but she couldn’t imagine why he was taking her there now.

A witchlight burned in James’s hand, illuminating the curves and plains of his face, as they started their descent down the stone steps. There wasn’t far to go, the stairwell curved twice and then spit them out in the stone walled room. Covering the walls from floor to ceiling was every type of weapon made under heaven. Cordelia felt a familiar tingle run up her spine.

“Cortana,” she whispered as James crossed the room to a wooden chest and retrieved the blade from inside, still secure in Cordelia’s gilded scabbard.

“I found it where you fell,” said James, walking back over to where she stood in the center of the room. “I’ve been keeping it safe for you.”

Once in her hands, Cordelia grabbed the hilt and drew the blade out, relishing in the song it sang as it was freed like the first draw of a violin bow across the strings. She swung it once, the hilt rolled across her hand deftly and back into her palm. She drew her finger along the edge, thin as glass, but stronger than stone.

“Beautiful,” breathed James.

“I always thought so,” said Cordelia and sheathed her beloved weapon.

When she looked up, her breath hitched. James stood only a few inches away from her, his eyes were not on the blade, but on her. She knew the expression on his face, she’d seen it before, had dreams about him looking at her the way he was now. It was the same expression he wore after he kissed her in The Whispering Room. When she’d allowed herself—really allowed herself to be vulnerable enough to believe that his affections went farther than just friendship towards her.

And when she found his affections held firm for someone else, it nearly broke her.

It was time to set aside the fatuous ideations she’d held for James since childhood and start accepting that they would never be more than the dearest of friends.

She slid the strap of her scabbard over her neck so that it lay across her shoulder. “Lucie and Matthew are surely waiting for us by now. We should go.” She turned to leave, but James reached for her hand pulling her gently back towards him.

“Wait,” he said. “Cordelia there is something I must ask you while I still have the courage to do so.”

Cordelia felt a burning, sick feeling in her stomach, but she didn’t pull away.

“That night, when you left London, you told me that you loved me,” he said, his eyes wide searching hers. “I need to know—”

“There you are,” said Lucie from the entrance to the weapons room. “How dare you leave me alone with Matthew and his precious metal trap. Come along before someone sees the mobile sitting on our lawn and reports us to the Clave.”

Cordelia turned from Lucie back to James. She could feel the heat in the tips of her ears. She suspected that they would need to have this conversation, but she hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Her heart pounded in her chest as if screaming her answer.

“We’ll be right there, Lucie,” said James, his eyes still firmly held Cordelia. “A minute longer.”

Lucie, having realized she interrupted something rather personal, did not argue but rather turned on her heels and walked back up the stone steps. They listened to the echoes of her shoes against the stone until the noise disappeared, but Cordelia still suspected that Lucie was not far away and had an ear towards the conversation.

“You want to know if it’s still true?” asked Cordelia. “Of course it is, I’ll always care about you, but that does not negate everything that’s happened. It was selfish of me to agree to your proposal when you so clearly loved someone else. You only did it as a favor to my family and while I am extremely grateful for that, please don’t feel that because I am back for the foreseeable future that you are obligated to uphold that promise any longer.” She exhaled and dared to look at James again. His expression remained impassive giving her the courage to place a hand on his shoulder. “You should be allowed to pursue the one that you love; not feel indebted because I soiled my name. We both know it hasn’t been fully intact in some time. I would have done it for any of you.“

James reached up and covered the hand that was resting on his shoulder with his own and she saw that where the silver bracelet usually hung from his wrist was now gone. She looked to his other wrist, but found that it was bare too.

“Come along, Daisy,” said James. “There is still quite a bit we need to catch you up on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me so much trouble, I’m not really sure why. Forgive me, I don’t feel like it’s one of my best, but I wanted to have something for you all to read. With helping my sister, starting work again, I’m going to start posting bi-weekly, every other Sunday, so that I have a bit more time to work on each part. I hope you guys enjoy something in this messy, inconsistent chapter. I promise that the next one will be significantly better and with more Jordelia. Next post coming Sun, Oct 4


	18. And If the Stars are Shining

“Oh for Raziel’s sake,” said Cordelia to James, both of them out of breath after escaping out of the Institute’s staff quarters to avoid a run in with any number of visitors coming and going out of the Institute. James led Cordelia into the back gardens; through the thick overgrown hedges to the back of the barn where the rumbling and sputtering of an automobile sat spilling out black smoke from a pipe behind one of the four wheels. Lucie stood with her fists planted on her hips while Matthew lay half inside of the exposed engine that reminded Cordelia of the inside of a clock with a number of gears and parts moving at once to give the machine life. Cordelia brushed some leaves from her hair and said, “He really does have an automobile.”

James grinned with a smudge of dirt across his cheek. “What did you expect?”

“In all honesty, I’m not sure what I expected,” said Cordelia, just as the car omitted another wheezing cough and cloud of black smoke. “Is it safe?”

“Most of the time.” James raised a dark eyebrow.

Cordelia was not reassured. “What does it run on?”

“Matthew’s sheer will and determination, apparently,” said James and started towards the car again. He looked behind them to be sure no one had seen or followed. The last thing Cordelia’s mother needed was to see her injured daughter climb into an unreliable, unbelievably loud automobile after being in a magically induced coma for the past week healing from demon poisoning— amongst other things she could not remember— with the man she’d ruined her reputation for. She recalled the hope in her mother’s eyes at seeing James and her standing together in the sitting room, even if Lucie and Matthew were not far away. And after seeing James’s wrists free of Grace’s bracelet, she couldn’t deny the small, however incessant, pang in her chest that admitted she might harbor some hope herself. He hadn’t made any admissions of his affections for her that lead beyond friendship and camaraderie, but unless she was terribly mistaken, there had been a look in his eyes when he walked into the Institute and found her standing there with Lucie that went beyond relief.

But she’d been so very wrong before. Perhaps Grace asked for the bracelet back again after the incident in her bedroom. It was entirely a possibility; one that made Cordelia burn red. If that was the case, she possessed half the mind to find Grace Blackthorn and hit her over the head with a flower vase for not seeing what stood in front of her, offering his love and devotion freely, while she toyed with his emotions like a petulant child unable to make a decision at an ice cream parlor.

She turned to James just as a lofty wind picked up and blew the thick tendrils of dark hair away from his face. She recalled what it felt like to run her fingers through his hair, the texture like fine silk and color deeper than onyx. The smell of sandalwood and fighting leather gripped her senses. How she ever thought leaving London would erase or ease her feelings for James Herondale, she wasn’t sure. It would take so much more than time and distance to eradicate him from her mind.

“Brave Cordelia,” teased James with a smirk. “Are you afraid of an automobile?”

“I was not aware I gave the impression of being afraid,” said Cordelia, adjusting her stance.

“You have a look.”

“A look?” She scoffed. “I’m a lady. We have a plethora of looks that could mean a number of things, all at once, and have nothing to do with what we appear to be looking at at the moment.”

James’s grin softened. “What are you thinking about then? If not the tragic death of four Shadowhunters that have met their end in a fiery accident. If it’s not too bold of me to ask.”

“It is,” said Cordelia, but smiled despite herself for James knew she didn’t concern herself with the proper and improper rules of society. Much to her mother’s chagrin, she’d always led herself with more sensibility than sense.

“You must forgive me then,” said James. “I will keep my assumptions of what a lady thinks to myself.”

“But you so often get it wrong!” laughed Cordelia. “However will you survive in society?”

“I have Matthew to guide me,” he said, just as Matthew released a string of profanity inside the engine of the car; several of which insulted the integrity of his mother. James grimaced. “That was incredibly poor timing.”

“Or was it perfect timing?” Cordelia nudged him with her shoulder. “It is a wonder you two have survived this long.”

She felt James look over at her, but kept her attention on Lucie as her friend climbed behind the wheel of the automobile and grumbled while following Matthew’s instructions on which pedal to press and release with her foot and how to move the long gear shift. She reminded Cordelia of one of the suffragettes that her mother both despised and admired on the covers of the mundane news articles. Women dressed in trousers riding around on bicycles and learning to drive automobiles.

“What of the children?” cried Sona as she threw the article in the trash.

Do they not have fathers? wondered Cordelia to herself, but did not dare upset her mother further or she’d risk having her entire day ruined with a lesson on proper, respectable women in society— even Shadowhunter society. One could come home covered head to toe in demon ichor, but to sit on a bicycle or drive an automobile was entirely out of the question.

“You’ll have to assist me then,” said James. “Lest my assumptions continue to be incorrect.”

“I have no doubts that they will,” said Cordelia just as the car lurched forward with Matthew still half inside. Lucie screamed, but managed to stop the car again, which sent Matthew’s dangling legs into the air.

“Are you trying to kill me?” He yelled as his pale head of hair emerged from the car’s engine.

“We’d better go,” said James.

Cordelia agreed. “It would appear so.”

“The beast moved, did it not,” said Lucie, her grip white around the steering wheel. “Was that not the objective?”

“Not while head first in the engine,” said Matthew as he combed sweat and hair away from his face and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. “Slide over before you damage him beyond repair.”

“Him?” said Cordelia as she and James approached the squabbling pair. “I know ships are usually given the pronoun she. Is this not a type of ship?”

“Cordelia meet Algernon,” said Matthew as he adjusted his driver’s gloves.

“Algernon,” said Cordelia and looked to James. “As in?”

“Do not get him started,” said James as he climbed onto the bench behind the driver’s side and made room for Cordelia beside him.

“Where to?” asked Lucie. “Do make it someplace sweet, Matthew, not the local pub.”

“I know a place,” said Matthew and cleaned a smudge off the glass shield in front of him with his elbow. “Everyone set? Cordelia, are you comfortable?”

While the plush leather seats were rather comfortable, she suspected that was not what he meant. “Let us finally settle the debate of which is the better form of travel.”

“Hold tight to your coronet’s, ladies,” said Matthew as he forced the stubborn gear shift down and pressed his foot to a pedal. The car lurched forward sending Cordelia gripping the front bench with her hand. James sequentially did the same when his hand covered the top of hers. He didn’t remove it right away, whether to give off the impression that he had done it on purpose or because he simply didn’t want to, Cordelia wasn’t sure, but she found herself glad for it. 

Matthew drove them through the city until the buildings and cobblestone roads transformed into countryside with rolling green hills and tiny cottages with smoke drifting out of the chimneys and acres of sheep that would bleat and scatter whenever the car would cough. Cordelia watched out the window as the landscape changed again and she could see the faint blue line of the ocean in the distance.

“What do you think?” James leaned into her, his mouth brushed against the crown of her ear so that she could hear him over the sound of the engine and the wind. The small touch sent goose flesh across her shoulders down her arms.

“It’s really not so different from a carriage,” said Cordelia, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. “It does seem to be a bit of a faster form of travel and more efficient than readying horses and carriage.” They hit a bump in the rough dirt road that shot Cordelia into the air and back onto the bench nearly careening into James that had her clutching her still tender ribs.

James took notice of this and pulled himself forward from the bench in front of him to tell Matthew to slow down.

“Don’t worry yourself,” said Cordelia, still clutching her waist and bursting in a fit of laughter. “I’m fine. Honest.”

“Your brother will both have my head if I don’t return you in better form than when we left,” said James as the car shifted to a slower gear.

“Are you afraid of my brother?” laughed Cordelia. “He has a bad leg now, so I’m sure you can take him on. Besides, it’s my mother you should be worried about. I can manage Alastair, but my mother will have both of our heads if I return injured.”

“Your mother adores me,” said James, as he rested his arm on the back of the bench behind Cordelia and turned on his hip so he could face her.

“Quite confident of that, aren’t you?” said Cordelia, aware of each time the car jostled her shoulder into James’s chest. “Oh, but she wait until she learns the truth.”

Cordelia meant it to be teasing and hadn’t thought about the implications of her statement before she said it, but it didn’t take long after when James removed his arm from behind Cordelia and turned to face forward again. His expression turned solemn and thoughtful as he looked to the horizon where the sky and the sea split in two different shades of blue in a clean even brush stroke.

It took her a moment to realize what had caused him to withdraw and felt instantly dreadful. “James,” she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“It is still I who should be apologizing to you, Cordelia,” said James, and his eyes met hers with a sincerity that stole her breath and made her want to look away. “What I did— there is no excuse or explanation—“

“You needn’t say anything else,” said Cordelia, holding his gaze. “It is forgiven.”

Matthew parked the car on the side of the road as close to the shore as he could manage without getting the wheels stuck in the sand, but they still had quite a ways to walk to get to the water.

James offered Cordelia his hand as she exited the car and then his arm as they trudged up the sand dunes and through the thin bursts of green shrubs towards the sound of the waves breaking against the shore. Noisy seabirds squabbled on the breeze around them. Lucie and Matthew walked a ways ahead; a blue diamond shaped kite with a white ribbon tail flew over Lucie’s shoulder as she walked.

Cordelia held tight to James’s arm as she managed to uneven terrain in impractical shoes. She wished she had her training boots on rather than the laced boots her mother chose for her. His hand rested on his stomach, drawing her attention back to the vacancy of his wrist.

It seemed a personal thing to inquire, but she’d told him a bit of her truth in the weapon’s room, but he hadn’t had the chance to tell her his.

“It’s not my business to ask,” said Cordelia, gathering her courage. “But what happened between you and Grace? You’re no longer wearing her bracelet.”

James looked down at his bare wrist. “You noticed that, did you?”

She nodded. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I understand.”

“The water is just over this way,” yelled Lucie over her shoulder from the top of a sand dune. Pieces of her hair came loose and floated around her face in the breeze. “Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful, Cordelia. You’ll love it.”

James started up the hill, helping Cordelia along the way, except when both of their feet sunk into the sand. “It occurred to me that night, after you left, that I couldn’t wear the bracelet with the same intentions as I had done before.” He climbed up a few feet and turned around to offer Cordelia his hands. She took them and let him pull her up until she was beside him.

“When I left you were still madly in love with Grace Blackthorn,” said Cordelia, careful to watch her footing and not look at James.

“Possibly,” said James, “but she was not in love with me. I’m not even sure that she liked me to be honest.”

“Impossible,” said Cordelia, helping James this time as they both approached the top of the dune. “You’re very likable.”

James grinned. “I’m pleased you think so.”

They reached the top of the dune. Cordelia looked out at the endless miles of water and Lucie ran down the beach with the kite behind her while Matthew held the line; their shoes abandoned on the dry sand. Cordelia took a deep breath of the salted air.

The last time she’d seen the ocean she was just a young girl on one of their family trips to London. Her mother never did care for the sand everywhere and the wind, but her father loved the ocean. He loved it so much in fact that whenever they had the chance to go, he’d bring along a bijou glass vial and fill it to the cork stopper with sand and water to take back with them as a souvenir. He had all kinds of souvenirs like those glass vials in his office at their home and a story for each one. She never understood why until now. Some moments needed more than just a memory to remember them by. Some moments needed a tangible thing so that one can look at it and be instantly teleported back.

“So you removed the bracelet? Why?” Cordelia asked, her eyes locked on the kite that Lucie managed to finally get airborne. She felt James’s gaze on her, but willed herself to not return the look in fear that it would reveal something of herself that she was not yet ready or willing to reveal to James— not until she knew more.

How she wished she could reach into his mind, to know his innermost thoughts. It seemed an awfully violation of one’s privacy that she wouldn’t want to inflict upon anyone, but even now James kept the truth tucked away.

Before James could answer, Matthew appeared beside them. His mane of wild golden hair, usually perfectly coiffed was now wind thrown away from his face. His cheeks were bright pink with the crisp wind and bits of sand stuck to his skin like freckles.

“You should come fly the kite with us” said Matthew. “The water is bloody freezing, but you grow accustomed to it after a few minutes. Lucie is trying to manipulate me into looking for seashells.”

“James was just telling me about the bracelet,” said Cordelia.

“Oh that wretched cursed thing,” said Matthew. “Can you believe it, Cordelia? The entire time it was the bracelet forcing James to be in love with Grace through some kind of spell. Bloody brilliant that you’re finally rid of it.”

James grimaced as Cordelia gasped. “I hadn’t gotten to that part yet.”

Matthew looked between the two of them, and promptly turned forward again, dusted the sand from his trousers and pointed at Lucie. “I’m just going to see if Lucie needs help with the kite. It can be quite temperamental, and she has such delicate hands.”

James began to explain, but Cordelia already started down the side of the dune towards the beach. Careful not to jostle her tender ribs too much as she slid down the loose sand. James said her name, but she was too angry to stop and listen. And how was she to know if he were telling her the truth anyway or just some version of it that he manipulated to be suitable. And why, after everything Grace had done would he still be lying to protect her? 

She resisted the urge to pick up a handful of sand and throw it at him. 

On the beach, his hand encased her arm, slowing her enough that he could get in front of her. “Please, let me explain.”

Cordelia crossed her arms across her chest. “How will I know you’re telling me the truth or just some lie you’ve conjured to protect her?”

“I wasn’t trying to protect her,” said James with a desperation unlike himself.

Cordelia scoffed and made a feeble attempt to move around him. But James was too fast. He side stepped back into her path and moved a step closer. “I was protecting myself. When you left that night, I wanted to rip that bracelet off of my wrist and throw it into the fire. I wanted to run after you and beg you to stay. But I was still blindly in love with Grace and I didn’t want to hurt you anymore than I already had. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be in love with two people. I still don’t. And I thought I was being selfish asking you to stay, but I think internally my head and my heart were battling Grace’s spell. Fighting to reveal the truth to me, but I wasn’t strong enough to take it off myself. I wasn’t strong enough to go after you. And I will forever be ashamed of that, Cordelia, I will never forgive myself for the pain I caused you. I didn’t want the bracelet to be just an excuse for what I’d done. I wanted to earn your forgiveness myself. Instead, I just seem to keep making a mess of things.”

The shadow of a smile lifted Cordelia’s mouth. “It truly is a wonder that you have survived this long.”

James took a step closer. “I meant what I said that night you left… I don’t want to lose you. Now that I have you back, I am trying to do everything I can to convince you to stay.”

The wind had moved the clouds back in, blocking the warmth of the sun, and the first drops of rain fell around and on them. Yet a warmth filled Cordelia as his words registered in her mind. He wanted her to stay. He was no longer tied to Grace Blackthorn and he wanted her to stay.

“Cordelia! James!” Lucie cried from up the beach. “Come on! Mathew won’t let us get into his car wet!”

Cordelia looked from Lucie back to James. She closed the space between them, her hands braced against his chest as she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm against her lips and she felt him stiffen and shutter underneath her palms. The rain on his skin brought out the scent of sandalwood and his fighting leathers.

His hands held her waist. 

“Thank you,” she said. James’s cheeks had colored. “For being honest with me about everything. I would very much like to stay and help defeat Belial in whatever way that I can.”

“And after?”

“In the event that we survive and he does not successfully possess… anyone,” Cordelia shrugged. “Well, we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

The sky seemed to open up around them, pouring down rain and shaking the ground with a distant thunder.

James opened his jacket with the audible snap of buckles. He swung it over his head and moved to invite Cordelia underneath with him as they ran back to the car where Matthew and Lucie were waiting with the cloth hood pulled up.

The rain followed them back into London. The inside of the car filled with laughter and conversation and song from Matthew who seemed to only remember a fraction of the lyrics in which James would help guide him back onto the right track. Cordelia’s cheeks and ribs hurt from the incessant laughter as the automobile wheezed and coughed into the back of the Institute.

Lucie ran in first, her boots splashing through the mud and puddles before she disappeared through the staff entrance door.

James exited the vehicle before Cordelia and held his jacket over her head. They both said their goodbyes to Matthew and ran through the downpour towards the house, James’s jacket doing little to stop them both from being drenched.

Once safely out of the way of the automobile, Matthew drove away into the night. They reached the small porch outside the entrance door but before they went inside Cordelia asked the question that had been bothering her since his confession on the beach.

“Why?” She asked, even though she’d thoroughly convinced herself of the answer, she wanted to hear it from him.

Rain drops slid down his face and coated his thick, dark eyelashes together. His eyes narrowed at her sudden outburst. “Why what?”

“Why do you want me to stay?” Her breath swirled around them in the cold, London night. She began to shake from the cold. “And if you tell me it’s because you feel guilty and have this great need to repay some favor to my family, I—”

James closed the diminutive space between them.

His mouth touched hers. A small tender kiss to start. Then another kiss, a little higher up. She stilled from her shaking. He pressed another kiss near her jaw while her fingers slid down to his chest to feel his heart pounding against his leathers.

She scooted closer to him until they were pressed against each other as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue between her lips and twining it with hers. The taste of him... she moaned. In response to her, he immediately wrapped his arms around her, pressing her fully against him.

Cordelia slid her hands over his shoulders and up into his hair and tugged on it. He gave a low groan of approval and his tongue pushed back, pressing into her mouth and plundering it. His hands began to slide over her curves, caressing them possessively.

Cordelia could feel her heart begin pounding and gasped against his mouth as he continued to kiss her. He nipped at her lips. She felt...golden. She’d been longing for him for so many months. Dreaming of kissing him again. She never let herself believe that it could actually be real.

A flood of light covered them both as the door was wretched open.

Cordelia, still enveloped in James’s arms, turned and blinked in confusion at the silhouette standing in the doorway.

“I’ll kindly advise you to step away from my sister,” said Alastair with disdain and reached out to pull Cordelia inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: Good evening! It is 11:30pm, so as long as I post in the next half hour, I will have met my deadline. I am sorry for the wait, but I hope it was worth it. I had a ton of fun on this chapter. Especially the second half when things get a little bit spicy. I hope you guys enjoy reading it. As always please give it some love and comments are always read and appreciated. Please be safe out there, stay healthy, and I’ll see you all 10/18 for the next update. It’s 11:50, I made it!)


	19. Let's Hurt Tonight

. XIX.

Earlier that evening…

After seeing his mother to her room for her afternoon nap, Alastair retired for the remainder of the evening in the Institute library. It was the one room in the house, other than the unbearably small closet sized guest bedroom that the Herondales so graciously gave to him, where he could be alone. 

After the past week of excruciating pain while the runes and Silent Brother’s magic repaired the bones in his leg, the damage to his head, waiting for Cordelia to wake up, and answering the barrage of questions from anyone with a tongue to speak, he craved the precious minutes he could find of peace. Charles, unfortunately, conducted most of the questioning, which often left Alastair with a headache worse than the one he’d woken up with after being thrown by the demon and cracking his head on stone. Even when it was just the two of them alone, Charles remained callous and professional, only bothering to ask how Alastair was fairing, but he directed most of the questions to the Brother Zachariah rather than Alastair himself. It felt as if their relationship had been nothing more than a figment of Alastair’s feverish imagination. Alastair began to question if it all had, in fact, all been a dream. 

Most moments of quiet were spent beside Cordelia. When his mother retired for the night, Alastair would take up her position beside his sister and watch her chest rise and fall like he’d done when his parents brought her home as a baby. She was so tiny then. As delicate, round, and soft as a baby bird with tufts of red hair that already curled around her ears. Only a year and a few months older than his baby sister, he’d sit next to her crib and watch her sleep. He’d listen to the small shushing noise her breathing made, until he’d fall asleep. At some point in the night, he would be placed back in his bedroom, tucked under the blankets, and left under the glowing stars his bedside witchlight made across his ceiling. It wasn’t until Cordelia was a year old, and he was nearly three, that he stopped falling asleep on her floor, but only because his parents made him.

When Cordelia was awake, he wasn’t much different. The first few months weren’t terrible. She slept most of the time except when she was hungry or needed a change. It wasn’t until she was four months that Alastair thought he’d keel over from anxiety. His irresponsible mother would just place her on a blanket on the floor where anything and everything could fall or step on her. Not only that, but as time went on she’d begun to put everything in her mouth from leaves that had fallen off the giant fern in the corner, to splotches of mud from boots, and pieces off of the rug. Alastair was always there to fish out the foreign object from her gummy mouth before she could choke. He’d give her a proper scolding and she’d respond with a toothless laugh and gurgle that made Alastair’s insides feel like mush. 

Cordelia was the first word out of his mouth when he woke up from his injuries. He wasn’t certain, but he felt he’d dreamed about her. The remnants of nightmares lingered underneath his skin like he’d been submerged in ice cold water for too long and couldn’t shake the chill. When he woke up and found Cordelia being held in an induced coma while her body healed from injuries inflicted while he’d been unconscious, unable to rescue her, made it difficult for him to breathe or to think. He’d felt like that little boy again sitting beside her crib afraid that the moment he looked away, she’d stop breathing.

When she’d finally woken up, he’d felt a rush of relief. He needed a moment to compose himself in the hallway before he went through her door to find her sitting up in bed, smiling at him with her own relief. But she’d forgotten everything that happened to her since the moment they left the institute, since she broke her engagement with James after he’d properly humiliated her. 

He’d meant to warn James against ever speaking to his sister again, but the boy was like a shadow. He slipped in and out of the Institute before Alastair ever had the chance. He visited Cordelia when Alastair was asleep or bathing or being interrogated. And now, she was off galavanting with him and there was nothing Alastair could do to stop it. He wasn’t about to upset his mother by demanding that Cordelia not go with James.

On his way to the library, he practiced the speech he’d give James when they returned. He may be able to worm his way into the good graces of his sister, but not Alastair. It would take a lot more than his pathetic sallow looks and natural wind blown curls to win Alastair over. After everything James has done, he didn’t deserve Cordelia and Alastair made it his mission to make sure that James knew it. 

By the time he reached the library, his leg throbbed under his weight. He’d been trying to use his crutch less despite Brother Zachariah’s advice to keep off of it. The sound of his grunt echoed mockingly through the library as he pushed open the door with his shoulder and stumbled inside with a curse. 

A fire burned behind the elaborate grate and already had a decent bed of coals forming underneath it as though it had been burning for some time. A stack of books sat on the coffee table that stood in-between the fireplace and the two wingback chairs.

“Christopher,” said a familiar voice. “Is that you?”

Alastair seized and turned for the door. He was nearly there when the library occupant emerged from the middle isle and stopped when Alastair came into his view.

“Oh,” said Thomas, closing the book in his hands. “It’s you. What are you doing here?”

“I thought the room was empty,” said Alastair, adjusting his weight to his good leg. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“How is your leg?” asked Thomas and tucked the book under his arm. 

Alastair patted it with his hand. “It’s still there.”

“And your head?”

“Also there,” said Alastair. “The bandages itch something awful and I fear I’ll always have a slight pain in my knee when it’s about to rain, but otherwise, I am nearly mended.”

Thomas slid his hand into his trouser pocket. “Good. That’s good.”

“I never did thank you properly for coming to our aid,” said Alastair, braving a small chance at having a conversation with Thomas after not speaking with him since…well, since the night Matthew revealed Alastair’s deepest regrets. “I’m afraid of what would have happened if you had not come.”

“We did it for Cordelia,” said Thomas, without a note of sympathy in his tone.

“Right.” Alastair nodded. “Of course. Still, I offer you my thanks—“

“I don’t want your thanks,” said Thomas, turning his back to Alastair to return the book to the empty spot on the shelf. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Thomas,” started Alastair as he braved a step closer. He felt as fragile as the thin ice that blooms on a lake at the start of winter. One wrong step and he’d break through. “I know what I’ve done to your family is unforgivable and if there is ever anything I can do to unravel the mess that I’ve created—“

“You can’t.”

“I understand but if there is—“

“My mother cried herself to sleep for months because of the lies you told,” said Thomas, calmly. “She locked herself in her bedroom and wouldn’t let my father in no matter how desperately he begged or how strongly he claimed the rumors were false. She made herself sick to the point where father left only so that she would come out of her room or let someone in to bring her food and water.” Warmth bloomed across Alastair’s face. He wanted to hang his head in shame and fall to his knees, broken or otherwise, and beg for Thomas’s forgiveness, but he did no such thing. Instead, he lifted his chin and continued to listen to the consequences of his actions. “She looked so frail when she finally emerged. Barbara was the first one she spoke to; the only one she spoke to. It took several more weeks before she’d even acknowledge my father. I think she had to convince herself that it wasn’t true before she could believe anyone else. I’m ashamed to admit that even I questioned the validity of it.”

Thomas took a deep breath, his eyes were rimmed with tears, and his mouth set in a hard line. “I just want to know why? Can you tell me at least that? Why attack me— my family?”

The truth dangled on Alastair’s tongue. The truth that would uncover every secret that Alastair buried deep inside and fought his whole life to remain unknown, to everyone, including his own beloved sister. 

_ Because my father is a drunk. _

_ Because I was afraid of anyone finding out the shame he’d caused my family for years. _

_ Because the four of you: Matthew, James, Christopher, and you had something that I never had and would never have because I cannot allow people to get close enough to me in fear that they will be able to see the shame of my family; and they would see what I am. So I took the attention off of my family—off of me— and put it on yours and Matthew’s.  _

_ And I can never take it back. _

“Tell me!” Alastair shuttered at the pain in Thomas’s voice. He’d never heard him shout, not once, even after Barbara died. 

Maybe it was better if Thomas hated him. It meant his secrets were safe. In doing so, he’d keep Thomas from more ridicule and his family as well. Even if Thomas didn’t know it, he’d be doing him a favor. A small one that might cause more pain than redemption or forgiveness which they both seemed to be after.

So he’d let him hate him in hope that maybe one day the truth would be enough.

“I should go,” said Alastair, turning towards the door. “Cordelia should be arriving soon for supper.”

“You’re really going to walk away?” Thomas scoffed. “Are you such a coward that you can’t just tell me the truth?”

“What good would it do?” spat Alastair, the defense he’d carefully been building all of his life built up with even more strength. “You think there is some deep meaning behind my actions? Some explanation that will make me less of a monster. You were an easy target, the four of you. You were defenseless and weird and Matthew was the most irritating of you all. And I heard a rumor and I wanted to humiliate him, because I was bored, and because I could.”

Alastair’s chest ached as the tears spilled from Thomas’s eyes. He quickly wiped at them with his sleeve and when he looked at Alastair again, he recognized the hate that boiled behind his eyes. It was the same hate in his own eyes whenever he looked in a mirror.

“Get out,” whispered Thomas, his voice so low, Alastair almost didn’t hear him.

“Gladly,” said Alastair and pulled open the door. As he turned down the hall towards the staircase, he heard a loud  _ bang _ hit the wall. He didn’t stop or hesitate, the tapping sound of his crutch hitting the wood flooring echoed through the hallway.

____

The door to the staff hall groaned open just as Alastair walked down the last step. Lucie Herondale, shaking the rain from her hands and muttering something to herself, looked up in surprise to find Alastair standing at the end of the staircase. Her elegant blue dress was stained black at the hem and discolored with rain. Droplets glistened on her skin as she came to a stop underneath a glowing witchlight orb hovering above her. He waited a moment for Cordelia to come in behind her, as she so often does, but when she didn’t his eyes narrowed on Lucie.

“Where is Cordelia?” he asked, subtly gone from his tone as he was far too tired to pretend any longer.

“She was just behind—“

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He had an idea that he already knew. 

He moved around Lucie, still muttering her excuses, and pushed open the staff hall door. A few of the maids gossiping in the hallway quickly moved out of his way. Teeth clenched, Alastair followed the trail of rain droplets that Lucie brought in with her until they came to an end at the staff exit. Before he could stop to think for a moment, he grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. 

A blind rage consumed him at the vision standing on the little porch. James Herondale with his hands around Cordelia’s waist and mouth consuming hers while her own hands were tangled in his hair. 

They broke apart like two dropped links at the sudden intrusion of light.

A high pitched whistle filled his ears. With hands trembling, he reached out and grabbed Cordelia’s arm, wrenching her inside. When James attempted to pursue, he pressed the end of his crutch into his chest and pushed. “Haven’t you done enough to ruin my sister’s reputation?”

“Alastair,” said Cordelia, gripping the arm that kept her behind him.

After a few steps backward, James regained his balance, and smiled a malicious grin that was void of any kindness. “Haven’t  _ you _ grown tired of causing other people pain?”

“Pain?” Alastair seized with disdain. “What do you know of it in your  _ privileged _ little life? I’ve taken responsibility for what I’ve done. Have you?” He took a limp step out onto the small brick laid porch. The witchlight lantern flickered with the energy crackling between the two of them. “You may have beguiled her into forgetting what you’ve done, but I certainly have not.”

“Alastair,” cried Cordelia as a crack of thunder rumbled through the sky. He heard the pain and desperation in her voice and he ignored it.

“You’re toxic and dangerous,” continued Alastair as he stepped out into the rain, advancing toward James. “Everything you touch becomes ruin. Trouble pursues you. You use people for your own selfish gain. I may have turned a blind eye before when I knew the engagement was a farce to repair my sister’s reputation, but I will not allow my sister to come into an honest romantic entanglement with the likes of a half-demon sycophant who is only using her for his own selfish gain.”

James’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he glared down at Alastair as though at any moment he would hit Alastair square in the jaw. Alastair wondered how much farther he’d need to push. What other buttons he’d need to press. “Walk away, Alastair.” James growled so low it was difficult to hear him.

“Or what?” Alastair met his glare. “Are you going to hit me? Go on then, do it.”

“I’m not like you,” said James as rain dripped down his face. “I won’t let you drag me down to whatever miserable level of hell you currently reside. I care about your sister and I’m trying to right my wrongs; I’ve made a lot of them I’ll admit, but I am trying. Can you say the same?”

The question shook through Alastair. The rain dripped down James’s face reminding him of the tears that spilled from Thomas’s face only moments ago because of Alastair’s words. It seemed the people he cared about were evaporating from his life, he wasn’t about to lose his sister too. 

“Stay away from my sister,” said Alastair. “I won’t ask you again.”

“Alastair,” Cordelia hissed as he pushed her back into the house and closed the door before James could stop him. He clicked the lock into place as James jiggled the knob. With his crutch securely tucked under his arm, he grabbed Cordelia’s hand with the other. But before he could drag her along, she ripped free from him and pressed her back against the door.

“Don’t be stupid, Cordelia,” hissed Alastair. “You have to be smarter than this. Can’t you see what he’s doing? He’s trying to get back at me for what I did to him at the academy by hurting you!”

“I’m not stupid,” she spat back. Her hair hung in limp curls around her face. Her cheeks had more color in them than he’s seen in months. It irritated him further. “And he’s not. Unlike you he’s trying to move past all of that. You’re not children at the academy anymore, grow up! He cares about me and I care about him and neither of those things have anything to do with you.”

Alastair felt his chest explode, but only laughter burst from his lips. “He doesn’t care about you, Cordelia. He doesn’t. You don’t matter to him. You have to see that.”

“I do!”

“You don’t,” demanded Alastair. “I’ve seen the way he looks at Grace Blackthorn and it’s not the same way he looks at you. Have you forgotten what he’s done?”

“That was a misunderstanding,” said Cordelia, her eyes brimming. “He explained everything to me.”

“Did he?” asked Alastair. He pointed his finger at the door where James last stood. “How convenient that when he can’t have the girl that he’s actually in love with, he comes groveling back to the girl that gives her love so freely.” Cordelia’s cheeks bloomed red as she tore her eyes away from him. “He’s a liar and he’s trouble and you’re not to see him ever again, do you understand me?”

“You cannot forbid me to see him.”

“Yes, I can.” Alastair glared. “Because if I find out that you are seeing him, I will tell everyone that he was the one that burned down Blackthorn manor and the night we left it was he who was in Grace Blackthorn’s bedroom when you walked in.”

Cordelia looked at him as if he had struck her. “Why are you doing this? Why are you being this way?”

Alastair shook. “I am trying to stop you from making a horrible decision.”

“Stop trying to protect me!” Cordelia demanded. “I don’t criticize you for your choices on who to involve yourself with and I do not appreciate being told who I can or cannot love anymore than you do.” She smoothed the wet hair away from her face. “You promised. You promised you wouldn’t say a word of those secrets. How dare you throw them in my face to accomplish your own vindications. I will not be your pawn in this long standing war you have with him. If you say a word of those secrets to anyone, I will never speak to you again. Then you will  _ truly _ be alone.”

She shouldered around Alastair, her skirts dripped water as she passed him, and this time Alastair didn’t reach out to stop her.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are the purest and most wonderful form of love <3 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Next update will be added Nov 1.


	20. This Will Hurt Me More Than You

.XX.

Lucie was already awake when the knock came at her door. She’d been up with the sun writing a letter to Grace for her next available time to meet so that they could continue with their plan to resurrect Jesse without having to sacrifice a life. She’d been up half of the night with ghastly dreams of herself holding a knife to the neck of someone she loves. When it came down to it, even in her wildest imagination, she couldn’t bring herself to do it; not even to a stranger. When it seemed sleep would allude her, she did what she’d always do when reality came to be too much. She sat at her small writing desk pressed underneath the window so she could see the moon and the stars once the clouds had broken away enough. She started a new story. Disappearing into a different reality with new, but familiar people, and stayed with them until dawn. In her alternative universe, there was no mention of demon attacks, murder rates, or pretentious leaders. Instead, they flowered with friendships and love pursued, sustained, or left in need of resuscitation. The pages smelt soft as if sprinkled with powder. She wrote until her wrist ached and her fingers locked and she was forced to rest.

Lucie had just finished buttoning the pearl buttons down the front of her dress when a small knock came at her door. She picked up her gloves and companion hat and glanced once at the drying pages on her desk.

Her hands were stained with black ink that even the fiercest scrubbing wouldn’t remove. Her once clean and neatly trimmed nail beds were all colored with ink. When she woke this morning, she found a mark on her chin, across her forehead, and even some on her bottom lip. Luckily, those came off with a bit of soap and warm water. She recalled the hands of a painter that once did a portrait for the Institute. Not only his hands were riddled with color, but his clothes and his traveling bag as well. An artist doesn’t need to speak or show off their work to be known as an artist. An artist wears their work wherever they go.

She smiled to herself as she opened the door to find their butler with a letter sitting on a silver tray.

“The post arrived,” he said and lowered the tray for Lucie. “Breakfast shall be ready shortly. Are you in need of any assistance this morning.”

As soon as she saw the neat, elegant gold lettering of her name on the smooth parchment, Lucie nearly leaped onto the letter.

“No, thank you,” she fumbled. “That will be all.” And shut the door with her foot.

Without a letter opener close by, she used her finger to slide underneath the wax seal and pulled out the letter, tossing the envelope aside as she unfolded the paper.

Dear Lucie,

I am writing to request your assistance with some correspondence letters I have been needlessly putting off for the last month. If you find yourself with some time today, would you be so kind as to come by the house at any time after noon. The back door will be open. You can see yourself in.

Best,

Aunt Cecily

_Clever girl_ , thought Lucie. Pretending to be her Aunt as to not give away their agenda. Perhaps she did not give Grace the full credit she deserved.

She folded the letter into a small rectangle and stuffed into the bodice of her dress. As she turned to leave, her gloves slipped from her hands and her mouth dropped.

Jesse leaned against the door. With his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes held her face with a rage that rivaled even her own anger.

“And what is it that you want?” She asked with a slight break in her voice.

Jesse’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not going.”

Lucie scoffed. “And are you going to be the one who stops me?”

“Yes,” he growled.

“Is this how it’s to be?” She brushed a curl away from her face. “I do something you don’t particularly agree with and you suddenly become my own personal poltergeist?”

“When you’ve left me no other choice,” he said. “I’m trying to leave you alone. I realize I made a mistake by taking advantage of your ability to see me. I’ll never forgive myself for giving into the selfish ideology that after so many years alone, I finally had someone to talk to, that it never occurred to me the wild, beautiful girl would try to resurrect my lifeless corpse.”

“A terrible mistake on your part,” said Lucie, picking up her gloves from the floor.

Jesse stepped away from the door. “I tried staying away from you, but that clearly hasn’t worked. You’ve just managed to get yourself into even more trouble.”

“I need you to move,” said Lucie.

“Lucie, you cannot go there. It’s dangerous. Whatever you’re thinking, whatever they’re planning, it will not bring me back. Not as I was and not as I am now.” He reached for her, but his hands stopped in the air, as if he suddenly thought better of it. His expression softened. “In truth, this is something that I never wanted to confess to you, I’d hoped that you’d simply just let me go. But I realize how important it is now. Lucie, the way you think you feel about me, I don’t feel that way about you.”

Lucie rocked back on her heels just a bit. “And how is it you think I feel about you?”

“An infatuation,” said Jesse. “I’ve let it go on because there’s not many people to talk to when no one can see you. I’ve been alone for so long, quietly observing everything, but never able to engage. And then one day, I heard a girl’s voice in the forest, calling for help and I felt this pull to answer her. A pull that I couldn’t ignore. I never expected you to be able to see me— much less communicate with me, but you could. And it felt like dry land after months at sea. I’ve been using you, Lucie. Selfishly using you, because I couldn’t stand to be alone any longer.”

Lucie’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you. You’re just saying these things so I won’t go.”

“It’s true,” said Jesse. “Lucie, you’ve been a great friend, but bringing me back to life won’t make us more than that.”

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. He was just trying to push her away; protect her. But the doubt crept in all the same. He never once insinuated that their relationship was anything more than a strange friendship. If he were all she had to talk to in the world, she felt she would have clung to him, if only not to be alone.

Warmth spread across her cheeks. She had to look away from him. She needed to leave. “Please move,” said Lucie quietly.

“Are you still—“

“Move,” she said again and his form brushed aside as if shoved by the wind. Jesse stumbled for a moment, while he gained his bearings again, Lucie pulled open the door and left. 

Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, but she managed to hold them back. If this was his truth, it was best she knew. Still, the anger boiled inside of her until she almost turned around twice to tell him that she wasn’t bringing him back so they could ride off into the sunset together. She was giving him his life back because he didn’t deserve to die when he did. The way he did. He deserved to live and if she could give that to him, with nothing in return, then that would make her happy.

But if that wasn’t what he wanted, then perhaps it wasn’t her place to force it upon him.

She ran past the empty drawing room and turned the corner to descend the hallway to the dining room when she stopped.

Standing outside the door, pacing like a nervous jungle cat in a cage, was Cordelia. As Lucie approached, it seemed she was speaking in an entirely different language to herself, muttering to hands without noticing Lucie’s approach until she stood right behind her.

“Oh!” Cordelia stumbled back, clutching her chest. “Lucie, I didn’t hear you.”

Lucie appraised Cordelia, her hair was pulled back and braided into a coronet that ran into a braid down her shoulder. Her dress was a soft honey color that swooped across her chest exposing her delicate collarbone. The intricate beading had spots missing, but Lucie could still tell it was one of Cordelia’s most treasured items, if only because she’d never seen her wear it before.

“You look lovely,” said Lucie, running her fingers over the soft silk of the skirt that held Cordelia’s curve closely.

“Do I?” Cordelia blanched. “I supposed I’m trying to make a bit of an impression today.”

Lucie looked around the empty hallway. “On whom?”

Cordelia blushed. “It’s a bit of a long story, and I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable by telling you this information, but James and I may have kissed last night.”

Lucie’s eyebrow jumped and her traitorous heart ached. “May have?”

Cordelia grinned down at her distressed leather boots. “All right, we did. But before we could discuss it, my brother walked out and said all of these awful things to him. I haven’t been able to talk to him yet. I feel terrible.”

“Is that why dinner was so awkward last night?” asked Lucie, recalling the silent meal that passed between everyone except for the adults who kept attempting to make conversation, but couldn’t manage to get more than a few words out of the young adults sitting at the end of the table. No one would make eye contact and Cordelia just pushed the vegetables around her shepherds pie. Lucie had just assumed it was because she didn’t like shepherds pie. “Is James in there now?”

Cordelia shook her head. “My brother is sitting in there alone. A ploy to be sure James and I aren’t alone together. I was hoping to catch James before he came to breakfast, but I haven’t seen him come down. Oh, do you think he’s avoiding me?”

“No,” Lucie assured her. “He’s probably dressing as we speak and taking just as much care as you have.”

“Is it too obvious?”

“No, just the right amount of obvious,” said Lucie. “Sometimes I think my dear brother needs a brilliantly lit beacon for a sign and even then it might wallop him over the head before he saw it. Why don’t you go find him now and I’ll distract Alastair?”

“Because I can’t risk someone seeing me go into his room alone and I can’t very well speak to him freely in the open hallway,” said Cordelia, burying her face in her gloved hands. “I was hoping to catch him before breakfast and ask him for a morning walk. I don’t know what to do, Lucie, I’ve never been in this sort of situation before. And now I have Alastair hovering around me like a judgmental headmistress at a convent.”

“Have you a lot of experience at convents?” teased Lucie.

“You know what I mean,” said Cordelia.

Lucie smiled and patted her dear friend between the shoulders. “I do. Now, here’s what we’re going to do—“

Before she could give Cordelia her plan, James ran into the hallway. His hair stood up from sleeping on it wet and his gear was buckled incorrectly as if he’d done it in a hurry and without glancing in a mirror. Lucie couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She looked over at Cordelia who was beaming as if a witchlight had been stuffed inside of her.

“The post arrived—“ James started but was quickly shushed by a gloved hand over his mouth.

Cordelia lunged at him. “Shhh… we must be quiet. Alastair is there.”

James stiffened. “Good. I mean to speak to him.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” said Lucie, blocking the door. “I think the two of you have more to speak about than you and Alastair. Besides, it’s barely nine in the morning. That’s far too early for blood shed.”

James took Cordelia’s hand as if in some sort of act of defiance. “I am not going to sneak around your brother. I’m not going to sneak around anyone. We’ve spent far too much time in secret, I won’t do it anymore.”

Cordelia seemed to melt into herself as she leaned towards James.

Lucie snapped her fingers between them. “That’s wonderful, but now is not the time. What was in the post?”

James tore his eyes away from Cordelia to look back at his sister. He looked at her with a confused expression as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

“The post,” Lucie demanded. “You said the post arrived. What was in the post?”

“Right,” he shook his head. “Magnus replied. He said that he found it suspicious that we chose to write him a letter rather than show up at his door unexpectedly and unannounced as history suggests. Suspicious and intriguing, he said, so he’s invited us over this afternoon.”

“Wonderful,” said Cordelia. “How are we going to get past my brother?”

The three of them thought for a moment. If Alastair had any suspicion that Cordelia would be going off with James alone, he’d be sure to insist on joining or not allowing it at all.

“You’ll tell him you’re coming with me,” said Lucie. “I have to go to Aunt Cecily’s this afternoon to help her with some correspondence. You can tell him that you’re joining me. James, what time are you supposed to patrol with Matthew?”

“Noon,” said James.

“That’s perfect,” said Lucie. “You’ll look as if you’re going off to meet Matthew to patrol and Cordelia will look as if she’s joining me to go to Cecily’s except Cordelia will hop into your carriage instead of mine.”

James and Cordelia stared at Lucie for a long moment before either of them said anything.

“That brilliant, actually,” said James.

“I know, now fix your gear,” said Lucie. “You look like an idiot.”

Lucie speared another sausage onto her fork from the steaming plate in the middle of the dining room table that had been neatly done up with slow burning candles and plain white china plates. Tessa and Will had left the Institute early to attend a meeting with the Counsel. Sona was being visited by a Silent Brother who insisted on keeping a close eye on Sona’s pregnancy due to her age and fragility.

The meal prepared was as extravagant as the table setting: piles of fresh sausages, perfectly browned toast with freshly churned cinnamon butter, golden scrambled eggs, bacon slices, and bowls of seasonal fruit sprinkled with sugar.

The smell wafted through the Institute like a beacon.

Lucie sat beside Cordelia who sat opposite Alastair. He’d finished his breakfast before they left James to ready the carriages. With his plate cleared from in front of him, he flipped through the mundane newspaper occasionally glancing up to examine the two girls opposite him.

The silence between the two Carstairs was palpable. If Lucie wasn’t so nervous herself about having to go to Grace and tell her that she no longer wanted to help bring Jesse back, she might have tried harder to fill the silence. But with her own thoughts racing with the truth Jesse had shared with her, she couldn’t bring herself to even try.

“What are your plans for today?” Alastair asked gently. “I thought we could go to the park and get some fresh air. Maybe that will help to restore some of your memories.”

Cordelia’s fork clanged against her plate. “Lucie’s Aunt needs help responding to correspondences today. I’ve been asked to join her.”

“Oh,” said Alastair. “That’s all right. Do you need an escort?”

“No,” said Cordelia sharply. “James will be busy patrolling with Matthew so you needn’t worry about the two of us sneaking off together.”

Alastair’s mouth stiffened. “Cordelia, I know that you’re angry with me, but—“

“I’m not angry,” said Cordelia, pushing her plate of food away. “We can walk around the park tomorrow or perhaps this afternoon. There are some things we aren’t finished discussing, but if you’ll excuse us, our carriage should be ready and Cecily is expecting us.”

Lucie followed Cordelia when she stood up from the table, but before she turned to leave, she saw Alastair look down at his hands resting in his lap. His mouth muttered something under his breath, probably something he wanted to say to Cordelia, but couldn’t bring himself to. For all of his faults, and he had many, Lucie could recognize the love in his eyes towards his sister.

The two girls left the room, hurrying through down the hallway towards the front doors where two carriages waited. James sat in the driver’s seat of the open one that was mostly used for transporting items. Balios stood patiently while James hopped down and assisted Cordelia into the spot beside him on the bench.

“We’ll meet back at the Institute at three,” said Lucie, that would give them plenty of time for Magnus to muddle through Cordelia’s mind and James to look for the book while she abandoned her plan to help Jesse. “We need to come in together so no one will be suspicious. Good luck, Cordelia. If anyone can find your lost memories, it’s Magnus.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Cordelia and nodded at James to leave.

Lucie gathered her dress and climbed into the carriage waiting for her. She took her seat beside the window on the plush velvet bench and tried not to think about what she was about to do.

Jesse’s words played over in her mind until eyes burned. Maybe it was foolish of her to believe that there was anything more there; that he might actually care for her. Perhaps she did spend too much time in her fairytales that she’d lost touch of reality. Perhaps this was all for the best. She could focus on her training, on becoming parabatai with Cordelia, and finish her manuscript for publication. She’d have to think of a clever pen name, possibly a male one like Jane Austen had, so that her audience would expand past bored housewives.

And perhaps one day she’d meet someone. Alive, preferably, and her feelings for Jesse Blackthorn would be just a distant memory that she tucked into a box in her mind until they’re completely forgotten about, consumed by other things.

She wondered if he’d forget her too. If that was something he could do.

If it was something he’d done already.

It was nearly noon when the carriage came to a stop outside of her Aunt Cecily’s house. She did as Grace instructed and went around the back. The house looked dark when she approached the door though the garden. There was no light coming through the windows, normally Cecily had the doors open to let a breeze inside and some of the stuffiness out or the housemaids were hard at work dusting rugs, hanging laundry, or pouring out dirty mop water, but there was no such activity. Perhaps Grace preferred everything to be quiet.

Lucie rapped her knuckles on the dark wood once. “Grace, it’s Lucie. I don’t want to frighten you by barging in.”

After a moment, when she heard nothing, she tested the door knob and found it unlocked. She pushed it open on its aged hinges and walked into the kitchen. The curtains had all been drawn leaving the room dark except for small slivers of light where the sun came in through a break in the curtains. Flakes of dust danced in the air as Lucie passed through to the front drawing room.

“Grace,” Lucie called as she checked the chairs and the lounge sofa where they’d shared their bargain. The room was empty and quiet except for the sound of the old grandfather clock ticking away the seconds. “Grace, are you here?”

A chill drifted through the thin fabric of Lucie’s sleeves. There was a faint smell of burning wood.

Lucie turned towards the stairs leading up to the second floor.

“I don’t find this humorous,” said Lucie, and walked slowly up the stairs despite her instincts telling her to stop. “If you’re hiding because you don’t want to help me, well I’m here to tell you that I’ve decided to put an end to our plan. Your brother is adamant that he doesn’t want my help to bring him back and wishes to terminate all contact with me, so you can stop the theatrics now.”

She reached the top of the landing where the hallway split in two directions: West and East. Lucie glanced to her right and knew her aunt and uncle's room to be down at the end and Anna’s room being the first door on the left.

The sound of shuffling feet came from her left. She glanced in that direction just as the skirt of a white dress drifted into a doorway.

Lucie released a sigh and hurried towards the door. Words laced with venom filled her mouth as she stomped down the hallway and nearly kicked open the door.

“I sincerely hope you—“ The words were cut short. Laying in the center of a four poster bed in a black tailored suit, like he’d just risen from a nap, was Belial.

He grinned that cunning, familiar smile at her. “Good,” he said. “You received my message.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update coming at you on November 15th!


	21. The Encore

.XXI.

The cluster of ewes kept a respectful distance on their side of the fence, heads lifted now and then to watch the pair walking along the empty country road. Cordelia avoided a rather large puddle, filled over with dark murky water, and resumed her step with James on the other side. They were losing the light, and the setting sun had tinged the clouds a golden rose that glowed against the cold flat blue of the dusk.

James, tucked his hands into his pockets and resumed his guided tour. “I’m terribly sorry about having to abandon the carriage. It’s never clear how the wheels are going to weather the roads after a storm.”

“Another added to perk to Algernon,” said Cordelia.

“I’ll pretend you never said that and that you didn’t just use its given name. Matthew needs no further encouragement” said James and nudged her with his shoulder. “You know, Magnus owns this whole estate?”

“Really?” Cordelia looked across the narrow, feudal fields of rich red earth and verdant pasture sloping gently down from either side to form the shallow valley of the village, thinking how furious her father would have been to know that a Downworlder owned all of this. He hated the concept of massive estates. “That’s quite impressive.”

“He inherited it apparently. He owns everything— the pastures, the village, everything. Has done for nearly two centuries. Although he’s sold a lot of it in the past century or given it away, but he insists that the architecture be kept the same. That’s why some of the houses look sprung up from the colonies. Neo-Natalian, they call it, that flat-topped design. And that small cottage with the blue smoke coming out of the shoot”— he pointed down into the valley— “that’s his. Not too far to go. Are you alright?”

Cordelia tucked her hands into her coat pockets. “A little walking never bothered me. I would wonder around all over Tehran when I was a child. Alastair would grovel while I dragged him through the streets from one street merchant to the next.”

Squinting a little, Cordelia studied the westernmost end of the road, mentally comparing the earthy tones of England to the desert warmth of her homeland.

“I imagine it was beautiful,” said James.

“It was,” she said with a nod. “Though a different kind of beautiful than I imagine you’re accustomed to. The beauty lies inside of the city, with the people, the culture. It’s like every sense you have comes to life and you come to life. The air is so filled with spices and burning incense that you can taste it in your mouth. The language being spoken by neighbors sounded more like water trickling in a brook then the clumsy verbiage of English. Some streets were covered in rugs being woven and silks being beaded. It is its own piece of the world and could never be replicated.”

“You miss it.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered as if it were. “Almost everyday.”

“Almost?”

Cordelia carefully avoided another puddle. “As I’ve told you before,” she started as they merged back together. “I grew up very much alone. I didn’t speak the language well— English being my first language, and the children often poked fun at my clothes or the way that I spoke. I had Alastair, but well, we both know how he can be.”

They began the slow descent now into the valley, not more than ten yards distant from the small cottage with the blue smoke chimney. If she was going to have this conversation with James, then she needed to start it now. She cleared her throat. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about what happened the other night. You have to understand that, there was once a time when Alastair and I— we were all each had in the world. And in that time, he protected me from a lot more than I realized and I don’t think he ever learned how to stop.”

“You don’t need to apologize for him, Cordelia,” said James. “As a brother myself, I understand perfectly well what he was doing and if a man had treated my sister the way that I treated you—even unknowingly— I would have flattened him to the gravel before he had a chance to speak. At least Alastair gave me a chance to explain myself before threatening to brazen me.”

Cordelia smiled. “He’ll probably never like you.”

James laughed and Cordelia’s heart responded to the sound. They’d come to the edge of the cottage’s property now, and the cottage seemed to be waiting for them.

“Then it’s a fine thing that it’s not his approval I seek,” said James, an eyebrow arched. “But I know he means a great deal to you.”

“He does,” she answered quietly.

She felt small in the shadow of the old cottage. The stone walls rose covered in a thin veil of moss and bright colored mushrooms. It was a narrow structure, hard and angular, save for the turret-like structure at one corner that probably sheltered a stairwell inside.

Reaching out, Cordelia ran her hand caressingly over the cold stones as they walked past. “Should we knock?” She asked, unsure how to approach the home of a high warlock— much less one with Magnus Bane’s social standing in the Shadowhunter community.

“Yes, I think so. He left specific instructions not to step on his azaleas,” said James, giving a flower bed full of the illusive purple flowers a wide berth.

He walked ahead of her towards the door tucked into the shadows of the wide porch. Cordelia’s trailing fingers snagged on something sharp, and she pulled her hand back, breaking contact with the stone wall.

“Curious,” said Cordelia, examining her finger tip where a small bead of blood now bloomed. “How does he get azaleas to grow this time of year.”

“I plant the bulbs in early winter,” said a voice from the porch, followed by a curl of smoke that drifted away into the air in the shape of a small white rabbit. “They freeze in the earth, then thaw in the summer, just in time for the rains to make everything moist. They’ll bloom until January.”

Magnus Bane emerged, resting his patched elbows on the porch banister. His eyes flickered, cat-like between the two shadow hunters on his lawn, and as a feline grin changed his face. “Come in,” he said, “it’s getting cold. And these hills are notorious gossips.”

Cordelia stepped through the front door, through the white-painted foray with the checkerboard floor. It smelled sharply of cut wood and coal dust and damp quarry tile.

“When I sent the letter, I expected to be invited back to your flat in London,” said James as he started unbuttoning his coat. “I hadn’t expected to be invited to the cottage. I haven’t been here since New Years of 99’ when you hosted that party.”

Magnus chuckled. “Yes, I faintly remember you and Matthew getting merry on spiced rum. One of you fell asleep in the antlers of my stag wall ornament.”

James blushed. “I have no recollection of that.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?” said Magnus. “It was very good spiced rum.”

James cleared his throat and quickly went to help Cordelia with her coat.

“Speaking of drinks, can I offer either of you something?” asked Magnus, lifting his hands towards the arched passageway into the kitchen. “I have fresh coffee, tea, biscuits, or a plate of chutney if you’re feeling peckish.”

Cordelia shrugged off her coat, and handed it off to James to hang beside his own. “I’ll take tea, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Magnus’s eyes flickered. “It’s not too much trouble at all.” Faint blue smoke curled from his fingertips as he snapped them. Cordelia heard the shuffling of glassware in the kitchen, but could not see who might be inside. “Follow me, we can sit in the front room with the fire so you can warm yourself.”

They followed the warlock through the arched walkway into the adjacent room. The large fireplace stacked with a glowing wood pile that crackled but didn’t seem to burn stood center against the forest green papered wall. A mural of Magnus sitting on a sofa with his ankles crossed and a gray cat in his lap hung over the gold painted mantle lined with fresh garland. Cordelia felt the texture of the floor change under her boots and looked down to notice the grand Persian rug underneath her feet. The style and design must have been over a hundred years old. She wanted to place her hands on it, to smell it, and see if there was anything left of its original home left on it, but resisted the strange urge by taking her seat in one of the wingback chairs that faced the fire.

James took his seat in the couple of her chair.

Magnus chose to stand beside the fireplace. “Your choice in correspondence has left me quite intrigued. It’s not often that one of your kind asks my permission before showing up at my doorstep. You either don’t want anyone to know you’re here or one of you has been raised with manners.”

“When have I ever just shown up at your doorstep?” asked James.

“Who said I was referring to you?” said Magnus, his eyes flickered to James’s wrist. “Aw, broken free from the manacle, I see. How did you manage it? Is that what this is about then?”

James gripped his wrist with his other hand. He glanced to Cordelia, probably weighing her reaction, and then back to Magnus. “We’re not here for me. It’s Cordelia.”

Magnus crossed his arms over his chest. “Aw, the young miss Carstairs. You look much better since I last saw you. You seem to have recovered nicely since your rendezvous with the prince of hell.”

“I wouldn’t call it a rendezvous as much as an unsuccessful kidnapping,” said Cordelia and allowed the comfort of Cortana strapped to her back to fight off the memory of being held against her will. Perhaps it was best that she didn’t remember any of it. What if he’d done something unspeakable to her.

“Tell me what ails you and I will see if I can help,” said Magnus.

“When I woke from my coma,” said Cordelia, taking a deep breath, “its seems that I have forgotten everything after the moment I got into the carriage with my brother to go to Alicante. I don’t remember being attacked, I don’t remember Belial, and I don’t remember how I got back except for what Lucie and James have told me. We were hoping that you would be able to gain access to my memories to hopefully learn what we can about Belial and his plan.”

“Curious.” Magnus tipped his head and thought for a moment, seeking a reply. “But you did hit your head rather hard in the attack, did you not? It could just be that your brain became scrambled just a bit and you’ve only temporarily forgotten.”

Cordelia and James glanced at each other. “That might be so,” said James, “but if Belial disclosed any information about his plan on how to capture me as his host to Cordelia and erased her memories as she was escaping, then perhaps her memories are key to his defeat.”

“Perhaps.” He looked between the two of them. “Unfortunately for you, your very concerned parents have requested that if you were to come to me, I not assist you.”

Cordelia and James both dropped their shoulders in dejection.

“Fortunately for them,” started Magnus, “in assisting you, I am actually assisting them, which they also asked me to do.” He examined some dust on the mantle. “This is a tough decision.”

A silver tray topped with a simple white teapot and three cups drifted into the room and gently bumped into Magnus’s shoulder. Without looking, he waved it away. “None for me, thank you.”

Cordelia watched as the tray floated over to the elegant wooden table and sank down with a delicate rattle.

“Cream or sugar?” Magnus asked.

“Just cream,” requested Cordelia.

The pot and the milk jar lifted and poured simultaneously into an awaiting tea cup. Cordelia’s mouth gaped as she watched.

“You never fail to dazzle,” said James.

“I invented the word, boy,” grinned Magnus as the tea and cup soared to Cordelia’s awaiting hands. “And don’t you forget it. But, now, back to our predicament. No one else has tried to access these lost memories?”

Cordelia swallowed a mouthful of hot earl grey tea. “The Silent Brothers refused as my mind was still healing from the trauma. They fear it might cause irreversible damage.”

Magnus frowned. “They’re right. Playing with magic in someone’s mind is incredibly dangerous. Especially when it comes to memories. Just the slightest wrong touch and you could forget entirely who you are.”

The teacup rattled on the saucer in Cordelia’s hand. James reached over and placed a hand on her knee.

“You needn’t go through with it, Cordelia,” he said gently. “We’ll wait for the memories to return.”

“What if they don’t?” She reached forward to set her tea back on the table lest she spill it all over Magnus’s gorgeous rug or plush velvet arm chair. “Can you do it? Do you think you can access them without—“

Magnus studied his polished fingernails. “I can try, but despite what some might believe, there are no guarantees when it comes to magic.”

Cordelia glanced over at James beside her. He was already studying her face; his expression was gentle and considering. They’d come all this way and they’d gone through all of the trouble to lie to everyone and she had promised to help in any way that she could to defeat Belial. Still, she knew that if she decided she didn’t want to go through with it, he’d leave this cottage with her and they’d find another way.

But there was always a trust in everyone’s voices when they talked about the infamous Magnus Bane. She’d heard stories of his camaraderie and bravery with the Shadowhunter community for years. The other thing that could possibly match his style and class would be his power. 

“Let’s try,” she said with as much confidence as she could bear to muster.

“Cordelia,” James started. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“No,” said Cordelia, “but you trust him, do you not?”

“With my life,” said James.

Magnus grinned down at his suede boots, pretending not to be listening, or at least not to have any interest in the exchange.

“Then I trust him too. Besides,” she said as she leaned forward to pick up her teacup. “His magic makes a delicious cup of tea and if that’s any indication of his abilities, then I feel completely safe.”

Magnus snapped his fingers and the tray of tea disappeared from the table. He pointed to James next. “James, you lay that blanket over the table. Cordelia, lay on top.”

They did as they were instructed. James removed the tightly knit afghan from the back of the chair and over the coffee table with it. Cordelia sat and swung her legs over until she could recline back in a position that made her feel entirely too vulnerable.

Magnus rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and rubbed his hands together creating sparks between his palms. He came around the table and kneeled down behind Cordelia’s head.

James knelt beside her and offered her his hand. “Perhaps you’d rather wait in the library? This could take some time and may not be pleasant.”

James brushed a strand of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. “I don’t have to go anywhere if you’d prefer me here.”

“Actually, it might be better if you left the room,” said Magnus. “It will give Cordelia a chance to speak more freely and I don’t need the concerned significant other hovering over my shoulder while I am trying to work in the delicate details of the human consciousness.”

Cordelia took his hand and squeezed it. “He’s right.”

James leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I won’t be far.”

She nodded and reluctantly let his hand go as he stood.

Once James left the room, Cordelia felt the cool press of Magnus’s fingertips against her temple. “When you’re comfortable, close your eyes for me, Cordelia.”

After several deep breaths, Cordelia let her eyes close and focused her attention on the gentle rush of Magnus’s breath through his nose and the crackling of the fire wood.

“What’s the first thing that you remember from that night?”

Cordelia let the memories rush past her strangely warped and out of order. The first thing that came to mind was standing before James. “I said goodbye to James. I’d broken our engagement and was leaving London for Alicante with my brother.”

The warmth of the tears on her cheeks, the weight in her chest, the ache in her throat, she recalled all of it as if it were happening again. “I remember leaving James. I climbed into the carriage with Alastair. We started arguing. I told him of my plans to join the Iron Sisters when we returned to Alicante. He was so angry with me. He forbade me from doing it. He nearly turned the carriage around when we felt a jolt, as if we lost a wheel, and the carriage stopped.”

The picture in her mind started to become disfigured. Alastair stood in the darkness, a spear in his hands as he yelled something out to her.

_“What was that?” Cordelia asked, pushing herself up to her knees._

_“I’m not sure.” Alastair reached for the door. “Stay here. I’ll see what’s going on.”_

_“I’m coming with you.”_

The memory started rippling apart like a stone thrown into still waters.

“Hold onto it, Cordelia,” said Magnus. “There’s a block on your memories, but fight through it.”

_“Cyril!”_

_“Run, Miss Carstairs, run.”_

The memory shuddered again.

_Alastair stood in front of her with a spear in his right hand, held out in front of them ready to empale whatever or whomever came near. At some point, he had abandoned his waist coat and tie. His eyes danced sharply around them. “Draw Cortana, I believe we’re under—“_

_Then, there was blood everywhere, more blood than she thought she’d ever seen in her life. Head wounds bleed the worst, she told herself. It was fine. He would be fine._

_“Cordelia.” More blood seeped from between Alastair’s lips, staining his teeth. “You— It wants—“_

A sharp pain lanced through her ribcage, stealing her breath.

“It’s not real, Cordelia,” said Magnus. “It’s just a memory. Keep going.”

_It was dark, that much Cordelia could tell, and it was cold. So cold the tips of her fingers ached. She was flat on her stomach, laying on something hard- stone possibly— that chilled her to her core. A dull, but intensifying pain, ached on the right side of her ribcage with every breath that she took. It was also the only part of her that felt inflamed with heat. Her lungs felt too full, the air scratched against the back of her throat as though she’d inhaled a mouth full of soot. She tried to cough, but nearly cried out from the pain in her ribcage._

_Laughter echoed around her as she walked forward through the hazy dream. A figure stood in the distance. He was dressed much the same as the last time she’d seen him, in an all white tailored suit complete with black buttons that glistened like eyes- perhaps they were eyes. His pale gray hair swept across his face; in much the same way as James’s, but she would not allow herself to think about that._

Belial.

_“What is it that you want from me?” asked Cordelia, the words shook on her lips._

_Belial chucked, it echoed around them. “Nothing from you.”_

_“James.”_

No. No that wasn’t right.

_The memory focused on her Lucie, standing before her grandfather in full fighting gear._

_Belial’s smile glowed in her memory._

Cordelia’s eyes flew open and she blinked up at Magnus and James starting down above her.

“Lucie,” said Cordelia as fresh tears spilled from her eyes. “He wants Lucie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update coming, Sunday, December 6th <3


	22. The Ascent

“Lucie!” Her father’s voice came from the other side of the door as it cracked open inviting in a warm light that chased away the darkness from inside Lucie’s bedroom. Lucie, being only five years old should have been asleep hours ago, but was sitting up in bed with her old stuffed rabbit in her lap, and both hands firmly clamped over her ears. 

Will, dressed in his white stocking pajamas, his black hair a mess of tangled curls stepped into the room. “Lucie, I heard voices-- what’s the matter?”

Lucie uncovered her ears and slowly opened her eyes as her father walked into the hazy moonlight that came in through the oval window like a dramatic spotlight. “They won’t stop whispering at me, Papa.”

“Who?” Will looked around her room. “Is someone else in here?”

Lucie nodded.

“Where?” Will demanded.

“They’re not here now,” said Lucie. “You frightened them off, but they wouldn’t stop whispering to me.”

A strange recognition filled Will’s expression. He walked over to Lucie’s side of the bed and climbed in beside her. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “They can be so loud. I think they just want someone to talk to, and I don’t mind, but I want to sleep.”

Will smiled. “As you should be. What do these visitors say?”

Lucie played with the silk ear of her rabbit. “They mostly just say my name. Whisper it over and over again, like they can’t say anything more. Are they ghosts?”

Will nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“How come I can see them?”

“Because you’re a Herondale,” said Will, proudly. “All Herondales can see ghosts.”

Lucie contemplated this for a moment to the best ability of her still developing five year old brain. “So even James and Mam?”

“Only James, not Mam,” explained Will. “Mam was a Grey before she was a Herondale. It’s hard to understand, but you will.” He tilted her chin up with his finger. “Only born Herondales have this particular talent.”

“And devilishly good looks,” parroted Lucie.

Will barked a laugh. “Exactly.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “They’re nothing to be frightened of. They can’t hurt you. They’re just looking for a friend. Now, you go to sleep and if these ghosts visit you again, you remind them that your bedtime is seven-thirty and if they’d like to visit you it must be before then.”

Lucie nodded and slid down beneath the thick comforter. Will tucked Lucie in all around until she resembled a log underneath a fancy blanket. With his white slippers shuffling along the floor, Will left the room and closed the door behind him.

For a moment, her room was quiet and she thought her father might have chased the last of the voices away.

When she was almost asleep, she felt a cold breath of air against her cheek.

_ Lucie. _

_ Lucie. _

_ LUCIE! _

The whispering could be heard even as she folded a pillow over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. They continued until finally she sat up and yelled into the void, “BE QUIET!”

The voices went out in a whoosh like a candle being snuffed. Nothing could be heard except for the grandfather clock’s ticking on the wall in the hall and the crickets chirping in the warm summer’s air outside. With a curt nod, Lucie closed her eyes and fell asleep.

___________________________________

“Good,” said Belial as he stood from the bed. “You received my message.”

Lucie’s eyes flickered to Grace cowering in the corner beside her mother. Tears stained Grace’s face and her chin shook with more to come as she looked apologetically at Lucie.

“What have you done?” Lucie whispered.

“I had no choice,” said Grace. “He was going to kill my Mum and he would never bring Jesse back. I wouldn’t be left alone— not again.”

Blood boiled in Lucie’s cheeks. “You really think he’ll uphold his promise? He’s about as reliable as a trained lion. He’ll get what he wants from you and then tear your face off.”

“What do you know of it?” Snapped Tatiana Blackthorn. “You’ve been handed things your whole life. Blessed. You’ve no idea what it means to lose something you love.” She turned her attention to Belial. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I killed seven innocent souls, I’ve released six demons from captivity using Shadowhunter blood, and I’ve brought you the girl. Now, return my son and we’ll be on our way. You can do what you wish with her.”

Belial blinked lazily.

Lucie hadn’t noticed before since her focus was entirely on the prince of hell lounging on Grace’s chiffon bed. The two women broke apart like curtains and resting behind them, on the bench beneath the window like he’d fallen asleep reading a book, was Jesse’s body.

Lucie gasped and took a marginal step closer to him, but stopped. 

_ Death begets death begets death. You cannot take from death without giving to death first and sometimes it takes more than its share. _

“Grace!” Lucie reached forward.

Belial snapped his fingers and Tatiana’s body crumpled to the floor with a sickening crack. Her neck lolled to the side like a broken stick. Grace screamed and fell back against the wall behind her just as Jesse gasped from the window seat. 

Limbs flailed around as if he were trying to save himself from drowning until he fell to the floor on his hands and knees gasping for breath in lungs that haven’t been used in years. Lucie thought she could hear his heart beating until she realized it was her own. He sat up and clutched his chest, his blue, green eyes darted frantically around the room.

Grace fell to the floor beside him. “Jesse, it’s alright. It’s alright!”

Jesse wouldn’t look at her. His eyes locked on Lucie. “No, what have you done.”

“I haven’t done anything,” said Lucie. 

“Then why are you here?” His face turned red in the cheeks. “I told you specifically not to come. Damn it, Lucie, why didn’t you listen.”

Lucie moved back a step. “I did listen. I came here to tell Grace that I no longer wanted to be a part of our agreement. I came here to tell her that I was giving up. I thought I was honoring your wishes. How was I to know that  _ he  _ was waiting here for me?”

“I didn’t tell you because I thought you wouldn’t believe me,” groaned Jesse. “I thought you’d think I was bluffing to keep you from trying.”

Lucie scoffed. “And look how well your dishonesty worked out.”

Grace cried over their dead mother and clutched at her thick collar in a feeble attempt to wake her up.

“Enough,” said Belial, growing bored of the exchange in front of him. “I have upheld my bargain. It’s time for us to go.”

“No!” Jesse tried to stand. Belial cocked his head and Jesse fell back against Grace. 

“Another move and I’ll kill you again, this time with no chance of return.” Belial’s eyes flickered over to Lucie. “I’ve realized I’ve been going about this the wrong way. I tried to capture the Carstairs girl thinking that she would get you to join me, but she’s far too much trouble. No, there was another pawn hiding right underneath my nose. The Blackthorn boy. It didn’t occur to me until you came to visit Grace and asked for her assistance in bringing him back. She was a good pet and delivered the message to Tatiana who in turn delivered the message to me.”

Lucie glared at Grace with her arms wrapped around Jesse’s shoulders. But how could she blame her? If the tables were reversed and it was James she was trying to revive, she might have done the same. No, she was positive she would have done the same. She’d allowed Jesse to give his last breath to her brother to save his life. In the end, she had been willing to give something up for the life of someone she loved. She could not fault Grace that. 

“I’m not going with you,” she said. “The entire clave will be here shortly and you’ll be banished back to whatever level of hell you came from.”

Belial grinned. Despite herself, Lucie found it quite a charming smile. “Wonderful. A family reunion. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to my daughter. I’ve wondered how she fared all these years.”

“She fared nicely without the likes of you,” said Lucie, cursing herself for not bringing a short blade or at least a couple of throwing knives. She’d left in such a rush, she didn’t find a need. Her uncle was notorious for hiding weapons about the manor. Her aunt was always cursing him about it when they were children and Christopher or Anna would somehow wander down the hallway with a curve blade in their chubby little hands. 

The hallway, Lucie nearly gasped as she remembered the cross blades hanging in the hallway. 

The door behind her remained open. Only a few steps back and she could make a break for it and at least have a chance at defending herself.

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” said Belial, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Not unless you want me to start breaking bones in their bodies starting with the smallest.” He raised on his hands and folded his fingers. The door slammed behind Lucie and she heard the faint sound of the lock. “We don’t have much time. I have a very short window back into my realm and we’ll need to be going now. That is if you want your friends to live.”

“Lucie.” Jesse fought against Grace’s hold. “Do not go with him. I’m not meant to be here. I’m not meant to be alive.”

“How rude,” said Belial. “Do you have any idea how hard your mother and sister worked to bring you back to life. The least you could do is be more grateful.”

“If I go with you,” said Lucie. “If I agree to do what you ask, you’ll promise to leave them alone?”

“You have my word,” grinned Belial and extended his hand towards Lucie. 

Every instinct drove her to pull away, to run, but then some stronger instinct took control, and of their own free will her fingers closed round Belial’s. Heat seared down and through her, swift as wildfire chased by wind, and as it moved she felt something strong and heavy wrap around her waist.

Her connection broke with Belial as she was dragged back to the center of the room. She turned her neck and looked up.

“Thomas?”

His face was contorted in rage as he yelled over his shoulder to the hallway, “Now!”

A figure dressed in Shadowhunter gear stepped into the room. Lucie didn’t recognize him at first as his face was hidden behind a curtain of black hair. A spear flew from his hand towards Belial. 

Before she could even blink, it’d somehow stopped inches from Belial’s chest, and shot back at the shadow hunter with blinding speed impaling the person in the chest and pinned them to the wall like a collected insect.

It wasn’t until then that Lucie caught a glimpse of the face against the wall. Mouth open and eyes glossy as he stared down at the stick protruding from his chest was Alastair.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all are doing well! Good news, next update is coming at you in just a week, Dec 13.   
> Stay safe. Stay healthy!


	23. The Reaper

.XXIII.

Alastair watched his sister play with her dolls on the rug in the sitting room from the second to last step on the landing. A safe distance away from the fire, her small voice filled the room with color that it sorely lacked. Since their father’s return from wherever it was he had been for the past year, their furniture (what furniture they had) started to disappear. 

Cordelia, being only eight hardly noticed. Not when her father’s attention became more of a pressing matter, but Alastair being ten years old and having been the one to mind the estate after their staff stopped showing up and Sona fell into another one her deep depressions, he began to notice. 

And he could only suspect one person responsible.

After being satisfied that Cordelia was out of ear range, Alastair turned and jogged up the stairs two at a time. He noted the sconces on the walls were missing along with the bulbs except for one left unprotected and obnoxiously bright without a cover. The rug that ran along the hallway was gone as well leaving the floor bare so that every footstep and noise could be heard. Alastair took a deep breath through his nose and steadied himself.

He’d secretly hoped that his mother would be the one to address the issue, but she hardly seemed to notice the missing things, or if she did, she didn’t feel the need to mention it. The house grew colder and colder by the minute despite his father's enormous presence to fill it. 

A part of him chastised himself for not being more elated about his father’s return. The rest of his family members seemed to be, but because of his illusive absence for the past year with no explanation about where he’d gone and the stink of alcohol lingering on his vest, something deep in Alastair’s chest froze towards his father. 

Others may be warmed by his false promises and elaborate stories, but he knew the truth. Call it a gift of his, he could see past the pretense his father shoveled in front of everyone to hide his sins.

When he reached the oak door at the end of the hall, with a shaking fist, he knocked. 

At first no sound came, so he knocked again; louder this time.

A shuffle could be heard inside. Glass shattering against the floor followed by a string of cursing.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, father,” said Alastair. “I need to speak with you.”

“What’s this about?”

Alastair placed a hand on the handle. “May I come in?”

“Is this important?”

“It is,” said Alastair lifting his jaw. 

“Very well,” said his father.

Alastair turned the knob and pushed his way inside. The bitter, sweet smell of freshly spilt whiskey hit him and burned his eyes. He resisted the urge to cover his nose with a handkerchief. 

His father wobbled on his hands and knees attempting to clean up a spill with his pocket cloth, but moving as if he were on a very unsteady ship. Red rimmed eyes looked up at Alastair and a grin curved around his father’s face.

“What is it?” He slurred as he fell backwards against the wingback chair that happened to be the only piece of furniture in the room beside the beverage cart sitting beside the window. “Am I late for supper?”

“It’s nearly noon, father,” said Alastair. “I’m here because it appears that our household items have gone missing.”

“Missing?” Elias squinted up at his son. 

“Yes.” Alastair rolled his eyes. “As in gone.”

“Like what?”

“My writing desk, Cordelia’s doll house,” said Alastair. “Mum’s good China, the Tehran crafted weapons, the silver, and where’s the furniture that used to be in this room?”

“Alastair—“

“If you’re pawning our household items to support your drinking then—“ It wasn’t a question of if, nor was it an accusation. Alastair knew the truth, he knew even if he didn’t want to believe it. 

“Then what?” asked Elias. “Go on, boy, finish your sentence.”

“You’ll not take one more thing from this house,” said Alastair. 

Elias scoffed and attempted to push himself up from the floor when his hand landed on a piece of glass. Elias hissed and fell backwards again onto the floor. “Bloody hell!” He held his hand up, dripping now with fresh blood. “Don’t just stand there. Get me something to stench this with.”

Alastair sighed and walked across the room to the beverage cart. A towel hung from the silver handle, stained with spilt alcohol, Alastair grabbed it and brought it over to his father. 

“Where is your _ steele _ ?” asked Elias as he ripped the towel from Alastair’s hand.

“I don’t have one with me,” said the boy.

“What kind of Shadowhunter doesn’t carry around his  _ steele _ ?”

“I’m nearly ten, father,” reminded Alastair. “I’m hardly a Shadowhunter yet. I can go find yours if you’d like.”

Elias took the towel away from his hand and examined the wound in his palm. “No, don’t trouble yourself. You’ve clearly more pressing matters to attend to. Have you spoken to your mother about these missing items?”

“I haven’t wanted to trouble her—“

“Only me?” asked Elias. “I suppose I deserve that.” He got slowly and unsteadily to his feet. When he stepped backwards a few steps, Alastair had to stop himself from reaching out towards him. He looked like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. 

The question dangled on Alastair’s tongue as he watched his father pitch forward and back like an aged ship on angry seas: why did he insist on drinking? When did he become a drunk? Alastair, honestly, couldn’t remember. There’d been a time when sobriety found him for a few months and then he’d be back on the streets again. Alastair was seven years old the first time he picked him up from the porch steps when he passed out before he’d made it inside. The first time, he’d thought it kind of comical, by the third time that week, he found it frightening. And now, he wanted to ask his father why. Why weren’t they enough for him? What was his father chasing that could be found or forgotten at the bottom of a bottle?

Alastair feared he might never know. 

  
  


The pocket watch ticked inside Alastair’s palm where he sat on the sofa in the drawing room waiting for Cordelia and Lucie to enter through the door. It was five past three; the time they were supposed to return. Questionably, James hadn’t returned either. Alastair knew he should have trusted his instincts over his sister’s word, but he’d allowed himself to feel marginally guilty about upsetting Cordelia. 

How could she not understand he was simply trying to do what was best for her? She clearly wasn’t thinking straight— and to be honest she never had when it came to the Herondale boy. It would be over his dead body that he’d ever see James hand-in-hand with his sister. 

No, not even then.

Alastair shoved his watch back into his pocket, stood from the chair retrieving his jacket from the arm, and marched towards the door.

“Oh,” said a voice behind him. “Are you leaving too?”

Alastair turned to find Thomas descending the stairs in his full fighting gear. His soft brown hair was combed back away from his face and curling slightly behind his ears. His scarred hands were adjusting the straps across his broad chest that just barely fit across him. Alastair swallowed and quickly averted his eyes to his shoes and then the front door. 

With a strange pitch in his voice, Alastair said, “I hadn’t realized you were here.”

“I came with my parents to meet the Herondales,” said Thomas tucking in the extra bit of leather left at the end of his strap. “I thought Christopher, Matthew, and James would be here, but it appears I am at a loss. Miss communication.”

“James is with Matthew on patrol,” said Alastair. “At least that’s what I was told.”

Thomas looked off to the side. “Then I’m sure that’s the truth of it. Where are you headed?”

“I’m supposed to meet my sister at the other Lightwood’s estate,” said Alastair. “She’s running a bit behind so I figured I’d spare her the trouble and catch her there.”

“I’m on my way there as well,” said Thomas. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

Surprised, all words evaporated from Alastair’s mind. When he managed to find them again, a bright color had emerged in his cheeks. “Are you quite sure. I don’t mind finding my own way there.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Thomas reaching for the door knob. “We’re going in the same direction, not on an outing together, there’s no reason for us to take two separate carriages to the same destination.” Thomas opened the door and without waiting for Alastair to respond, he walked out onto the front steps.

Still slightly shocked, Alastair combed a hand through his hair, picked up his cane, and followed.

“What plans do you and Cordelia have today?” Thomas asked from atop the bench seat of his parent’s carriage.

Alastair, who’d chosen to remain quiet despite the kindness being extended to him, focused on the main road as he answered. “I’m not sure. She mentioned something about going to a park.” He was quite certain that was all that was going on between them. Perhaps his parents conjured him into being kind to the injured, isolated, and troubled Carstairs boy. Perhaps this was some sort of revenge and Thomas had alternative plans of dropping him into the Thames. 

“It’s a lovely day for the park—“

“What are you doing?”

Thomas’s eyebrow jumped. “Excuse me?”

“This?” Alastair motioned between them. “This show of uncharacteristic kindness. I can tell it’s not genuine. Who put you up to this?”

Thomas sighed and straightened his shoulders. “I felt badly for the way I spoke to you the other day.”

Alastair had to fight to keep the shock from his face. “You felt bad? Thomas, you have nothing to feel badly about.”

“Perhaps,” said Thomas, “but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how unfair I was being towards you. Do not misunderstand me, this is not me granting you pardon for what you did, but rather an understanding.”

“Why?”

“Because when you created those lies about my father,” said Thomas, “I created lies _ for _ him, or what I thought were lies to help repair some of his reputation. My father, who is an upstanding citizen by most regards, and truly a wonderful father, and I was making up all kinds of lies to protect him even though I knew the rumors about him were lies— even though I believed him. I can’t imagine if the rumors were actually true.”

He didn’t have to say it. Alastair had long since learned to read between the lines of what someone was saying to him.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” said Alastair shortly. 

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” said Thomas, never removing his eyes from the road, “and I don’t pity you. I’m merely saying that I understand. In a way, I understand.”

With the wind brushing against his face, Alastair felt a weight of sorts brush off of him. 

“I am sorry for what I’ve done to your family and Matthew’s,” said Alastair. “I’ve been minding my father’s reputation since I was a boy.”

“Why did you do it?” asked Thomas. “I know why I fought for my father’s reputation, but yours was an actual alcoholic.”

Alastair bristled. “Alcoholic or not, he is still my father.”

“I’m sorry if I offended—“

“You didn’t offend,” said Alastair. “I suppose I fought so hard to protect him for so long that I simply forgot how to not to. I’d been able to keep up a pretense about my father that at the first sign of trouble, my instinct was to defend him, and the only way I knew how to do that was to put the spotlight onto someone else. If I’m being honest, it wasn’t him I was trying to protect.”

“Yourself?” asked Thomas, as he steered the horse down an empty brick paved street. 

“Cordelia,” said Alastair. “I was trying to protect Cordelia. She grew up believing that our father was someone to be admired. She held him on the same pedestal that the Herondale children held their father. I made sure that she never knew about his… illness.”

“Does she know now?”

“She does,” said Alastair. “I couldn’t protect her forever.”

“No,” said Thomas, drawing the horse to a stop at the brick pathway leading to a white gated entrance to a garden. “I suppose you can’t.”

Alastair looked up at the beautiful ivy crested veranda and tried to remember what had caused him to go fetch Cordelia in such a hast. Surely, she was all right with Lucie and if she was in fact with James, perhaps it was high time that she started worrying about her own mistakes. And if she needed him, he would surely be there for her.

“Perhaps I’ll wait here,” said Alastair. “While you go fetch Christopher.”

From the ground now, Thomas looked up at Alastair as he tied the horse to a post. “Would you like me to get Cordelia for you?”

“No,” said Alastair, adjusting his coat. “I shouldn’t trouble her. She’ll return when—“

Before he could finish his sentence, a high pitched scream came from inside the house. Thomas and Alastair both looked in the direction of which it had come and then back at each other. 

“Cordelia,” said Alastair as he swung himself down from the driver’s bench as Thomas drew a steele from the strap on his shoulder and whispered its name to it. It burst to light in his hand, accenting his face in a halo of light. 

The two men stalked up to the open front door: Alastair at the front, with Thomas trailing closely behind him, both of them scanning their surroundings. 

Upon entering the house, it didn’t appear that anything was out of place through the kitchen. There was no sign of a scuffle or demon activity. Even though he didn’t know him all that well, Alastair wouldn’t put it past the odd glasses wearing one to release a demon during one of his poorly executed experiments. 

They inched through the kitchen into the short hallway that went through to the sitting room. Attached to the room was a staircase and from the second floor, they could hear an exchanging of voices. 

Alastair broke for the stairs at a run with Thomas close behind him. He followed the direction the voices were coming from and turned to the left, stopping at a door that was partially opened. He was seconds from storming it, when Thomas grabbed him by the coat tail and wretched him back. 

“Wait,” said Thomas and stepped in front of him, “listen.”

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” said a second voice laced with ill intention and centuries of old lies. “Not unless you want me to start breaking bones in their bodies starting with the smallest.” 

Thomas grabbed Alastair’s arm and mouthed a name. “Belial.”

Suddenly, the door slammed in front of Alastair and he heard the faint sound of the lock. 

“We don’t have much time. I have a very short window back into my realm and we’ll need to be going now. That is if you want your friends to live.”

“Lucie,” said a male voice that Alastair could not recognize. “Don’t go with him. I’m not meant to be here. I’m not meant to be alive.”

“How rude,” said Belial. “Do you have any idea how hard your mother and sister worked to bring you back to life. The least you could do is be more grateful.”

“If I go with you.” The voice was clearly Lucie’s and if Lucie was in there then so would Cordelia. “If I agree to do what you ask, you’ll promise to leave them alone?”

“You have my word,” said a second voice laced with ill intention and century old lies.

Thomas glanced at Alastair and pointed at the medieval spear hanging on the wall in the hallway. Alastair reached up and pulled it carefully from it’s hooks as Thomas took several steps back, picked his foot up, and kicked their way through the lock with his heel in a single, impressive stomp. As Thomas reached for Lucie, pulling her away from the mysterious figure in the center of the room, Alastair threw the spear with every ounce of his might.

He watched it spiral through the air, quick as an arrow, and then stopped mere inches from Belial’s chest. A wicked grin curled around the handsome face, as the spear evaporated and then reappeared faster then Alastair could blink.

It was warm, that was the first thing he thought about. Warmth spreading across his back and his chest. His eyes searched the room for Cordelia, but he couldn’t find her face amongst the ones he could not recognize. Everyone stared at him, the pale haired girl Grace and a dark haired boy sitting beside her looked on at him terrified. His eyes drifted to his left where Thomas held Lucie tightly in his arms both gaped at him horrified. He tried to say something, but his lungs had stopped expanding. When he looked down at his chest, he could see where the warmth had come from. The end of the spear protruded from his chest.

“Alastair!” Thomas yelled.

“Go,” he said, as rust flavored saliva dripped from between his lips. “Go now.”

“Release the girl,” said Belial, with his arms crossed and a rather bored expression on his face, “and the boy lives.”

Thomas’s grip on Lucie faltered just slightly.

“Don’t,” said Alastair. “He’s lying.”

“Let me go, Thomas,” said Lucie. “Let me go. He won’t let him die, he won’t if it means he can have me.”

“Listen to the girl, Thomas,” said Belial. “Save your friend and sacrifice the other or lose both.”

Alastair could see the turmoil in Thomas’s gritted teeth and reddened face, still his hands were white knuckled around Lucie. He wouldn’t let her go. Not unless— 

Lucie brought her head forward and swung it back against Thomas’s sternum. With a quick maneuver of her feet, she twisted under his grip and shoved him off balance into the wall. 

“Let them go,” said Lucie, her hair loose from it’s braid now and falling around her face giving her the appearance of a mad woman. “Let him live and I’ll go with you.”

Belial grinned and with a slight nod of his head, he and Lucie blinked from the room like a flash of lightning. Alastair was released from the spear in the wall and fell crumpled to the ground on his knees. His hands went to his chest to feel for the wound, but while the blood and hole in his shirt were still there, the wound and weapon were not. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter was poorly edited, but I wanted to get it out on time, so I barely combed through it. 
> 
> Next update is coming at you on Dec 20!
> 
> Stay safe and healthy!


	24. Separate Dying Embers

James rode the streets at a blinding speed, taking corners on two wheels at times that had Cordelia gripping the sides of the carriage and bracing herself at the velocity; filled with too much concern for Lucie that fear for herself could not fit. Once Magnus had successfully removed the block on her memories, a flood of terrifying images filled her mind. 

The demon that had attacked their carriage. 

Alastair bleeding on the brick pavement.

Lucie running towards her through a cloud of orange sand and Belial greeting her with a malicious grin.

Lucie could see ghosts. No, not only see them. She could command them. Conjure them. And he wanted to use that ability to command an ultimately unbeatable army.

James took a turn up on the sidewalk, nearly removing a postal box in the process. Luck be it, Magnus glamoured the carriage so that as they flew by and around the crowds of people moving through the congested streets of London, all the pedestrians felt was a harsh gust of wind that gently scooted them out of the way or immediately stopping them so that James could maneuver around in time. When James had begged him to come along, Magnus insisted that he needed to find James’s parents and tell them of Belial’s interest in their youngest child. It was imperative that they find Lucie and bring her back to Magnus’s cottage where he could form guards around her.

Somehow Cordelia knew that if Belial wanted access to her, he would find it. For he had somehow found Cordelia in the middle of London and held her life and her brother’s in his hands. 

_ Alastair.  _ The warmth evaporated from Cordelia’s face as she reached for James’s wrist to look at his watch. She cursed when she found that it was already thirty minutes past three. Alastair would be on his way to look for her now. This would not help James’s standing with him, but she didn’t have enough time to concern herself with her brother at the moment. She’d deal with him once Lucie was safe. 

James had barely brought their horse to a slow trot before he jumped from the driver’s seat of the carriage at the front of his Aunt Cecily’s manner. 

He ran around the carriage to assist Cordelia, but she was already on the ground and ahead of him. 

The garden door was open. There was a chill in the air that was usually absent in the presence of Cecily Lightwood’s quaint cottage. It felt as if it’d been cloaked in darkness- the way she felt when she’d been dragged to the shadow realm by Belial. She wouldn’t allow herself to think of it. Perhaps it was just fear for Lucie that she was allowing her worst thoughts to enter her mind. 

James stayed beside her, taking the stair two at a time in a way her skirts wouldn’t allow her. She heard a terrible rip and suddenly her legs had more room to stretch. She didn’t slow or care even as her hair spilled from the delicate coronet her maid had done her hair in as she kept pace with James. 

They barreled down the hallway just as two figures stepped out from the room at the end of the hallway.

“Thomas!” James yelled as he skid to a stop. Cordelia behind him reached out for the figure beside Thomas. 

“Alastair!” She screeched, nearly colliding with him when she noticed a dark patch across the front of his shirt. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” said Alastair and glanced between her and James. “I was, but I’m not anymore.”

“What happened?” asked Cordelia as James pushed his way past Thomas into the bedroom. “Where is Lucie?”

Thomas and Alastair looked between each other and before either one of them could say a word, Cordelia felt the warmth drain from her body. “No.”

“He was going to kill Alastair,” said Thomas, shame filled his voice. “She gave me no other choice. She nearly broke my nose escaping.”

“He has her?” asked Cordelia as she moved past them into the bedroom to see for herself.

James stood in the center of the room staring wildly at Grace and a boy, no older than the rest of them, kneeling on the ground besides Tatiana Blackthorn. Cordelia’s hand went to her mouth as she realized the woman was dead.

“What did you do?” James demanded of Grace who hunched over her dead mother. “What did you do!?”

“Don’t speak to her in that way,” said the boy. 

“Who are you?” asked Cordelia, coming beside James.

The boy slowly rose to his feet. He stood nearly as tall as James, with dark hair and eyes the most beautiful shade of green. “My name is Jesse. Jesse Blackthorn.”

“Impossible,” said Alastair with a hand still clutching his chest. “Jesse Blackthorn died a long time ago.”

Grace sobbed into her mother’s corset. “Yes,” said Jesse, “I was— I was brought back through a bargain my mother had with Belial. An exchange of sorts. My mother thought she was only bringing him the items he needed to resurrect me, and she was so desperate to achieve it she never suspecte what she was actually doing was collecting exactly what Belial needed to create himself a temporary physical form. It didn’t last long, just long enough for him to take Lucy and leave.”

“Why bring you back to life then?” asked Alastair. “If he got what he wanted then why bring you back?”

“To keep Lucie compliant, I suppose,” said Jesse. 

“Why would you keep Lucie compliant?” asked James, tightening his grip on a knife Cordelia hadn’t seen him draw. “Did you have something to do with this? Were you working with Belial too?”

“No,” said Jesse. “No, I was trying to protect her. She— she was the only one that could see me; could talk to me.”

“And you took advantage of that,” said Alastair.

“No,” insisted Jesse. “We formed a friendship. We helped each other. I saved your life James, I gave away my last breath after the first attack with Belial, and because of that Lucie made it her mission to bring me back to life. I didn’t realize until it was too late that she had formed an alliance with my sister who was under the control of my mother and Belial.”

James looked down at Grace.“Do you know where he’s gone?” 

“There is no getting to him,” said Jesse.

“I’m not asking you,” whispered James in a way that sent a chill down Cordelia’s spine and fear that if he were to ever use that tone on her, even she might cower. “Where can I find him?”

Cordelia felt as if she might faint. She took several steps backward until her back hit the wall. 

“I don’t know,” shuttered Grace, still clutching her mother’s mink coat.

James stood straight and dragged his hands through his hair until tuffs of it were sticking out from between his fingers. He turned to Thomas and the two began whispering to one another in low voices. Cordelia felt Alastair come to stand beside her, but couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge him. The memories of him lying on the brick ground bleeding were too fresh in her mind, confusing the way that she felt about him when she left the Institute earlier that day. She’d been so angry with him; she hadn’t known that they were moments away from losing each other. 

She couldn’t think about that now. There’d be time for forgiveness later, for now, she needed to help find her friend. 

Grace pressed her mother’s hand against her cheek. Her tears poured over her mother’s rings, one on nearly every finger. A memory flashed before Cordelia’s mind of Belial twisting a ring around his finger while he spoke to her. A thick, silver one on his boney thumb. 

“Grace,” said Cordelia, pushing herself away from the wall and stepped towards the mourning girl who looked so much like a child curled up on the floor. She dropped onto her knees and brushed Grace’s lovely soft curls that she’d once envied away from her face. “I am so terribly sorry for the loss you’ve suffered.” Grace closed her eyes as more tears rolled down her cheeks. “I cannot pretend to imagine how you feel, nor will I, and I want you to know that no one blames you.”

She heard a scoff over her shoulder. 

“They’re going to blame her,” said Grace. “She was just trying to save me and my brother. She didn’t want to be alone, and they’re all going to vilify her for it— and me.”

Cordelia understood all too well wearing the sins of one’s parents. Her father tainted their family name long ago. A stain that she’d have to shoulder and battle everyday.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” said Cordelia patting her gently on her back. “Your mother trusted you over everyone else. Did she ever tell you how she conversed with Belial? There had to be some way that she contacted him or he contacted her and if you can help us learn this information and save Lucie, perhaps we can restore some honor back to your mother. Perhaps she can leave this earth having saved your brother and helped to defeat Belial.”

The room grew quiet around her and Grace sniffled. “She never told me directly.” Cordelia held her breath and Grace lowered her mother’s hand and held just her index finger. “One day, I saw her playing with this ring and thought it peculiar because I’d never seen it on her hand before nor have I ever noticed her playing with it. She dismissed herself from the room and went to her study. I heard her talking rather loudly with someone inside, but when I tried to open the door it was locked. When I mentioned it later, she suggested that I must have been hearing things, but I know that I heard a voice with hers. A male voice. The kind of voice that you do not forget.”

They all stared down at the ring on Tatiana’s finger; everyone too fearful to touch it. 

Thomas was the first to speak. “Should one of us put it on?”

“No,” said Alastair. “No one touch it. We should wrap it up and bring it to the adults.”

“We don’t have time for that,” said James and reached for the ring, but Cordelia slapped his hand away.

“Alastair is right,” said Cordelia. “We don’t know what this ring could do if one of us puts it on. It could kill us or something worse.”

“But Lucie,” insisted James.

“Lucie would not be much better if the ring kills one of us and our one chance of finding her is ruined,” said Cordelia as she ripped a piece of her skirt and used it to carefully remove the ring from Tatiana’s stiffening finger. “We’re taking it to Magnus and we’re going to pray he knows what to do with it.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed a slight mistake in my last post. Thomas would be Lucie’s second cousin, not first cousin, because he’s the cousin of her cousin. They are not in fact related at all, only Anna and Christopher would be related to Lucie, James, and Thomas. Ugh, it’s all very confusing. Anyway, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year! I hope whatever you and your family celebrate, it was wonderful and special. Thank you for being patient for this update. Next update is coming Jan 3.


	25. The End Is Drawing Near

“Is he alive?” Lucie demanded before her mind could return to her after jumping from one realm to the other with Belial’s hand tight around her own. His grip burned into her skin like scolding water; she was sure when he released her there would be a mark, but to surprise there wasn’t. 

Once in the shadowrealm, Belial released her and straightened his jacket, brushing invisible dust off the front. “He’s alive.”

“How do I know you’re not lying,” demanded Lucie, “that you didn’t just leave him there in a puddle of his own blood after you got what you were after?”

“You don’t,” sneered Belial. “I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”

Lucie unleashed a bitter laugh. “Never. I’d sooner trust a stranger off the streets than trust you. You’re a monster.”

The insult didn’t seem to phase Belial. “Don’t you forget, darling granddaughter, that we are kin.”

“No we are not,” said Lucie. “A Shadowhunter’s blood is too strong to be tainted by the filth of yours.”

The slight twitch at the corner of Belial’s mouth told Lucie that had struck him. Perhaps weakly, but it struck him all the same. 

“Come along.” He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and with a nod of his head, motioned for her to follow him. 

A violent, hot wind pushed against Lucie’s back as if urging her after him, but she held her ground. She hadn’t realized since arriving in this other realm, where exactly she was, until she looked around for any hope of an escape. It didn’t look promising. There was a steal black, rot iron fence that went on farther than Lucie could see and was far too tall for her to climb. It was twined with thick spikes that held empaled, dangling inhuman figures. Some fluttered in the wind like kite tails and others still moaned. The fence stood in front of a massive, black stone manor that looked like the lair of every evil villain that haunted her nightmares. The peaks of the roof pointed in the air like a dragon’s scales, dead ivy clung to the bricks and dripped a reddish liquid that smelt sickly sweet. Around her, Lucie could hear the moans of lost souls on the wind and felt a shudder run through her body. 

Looking up at it, all of her defiance and bravery evaporated and she quietly wished for her parents, a thing she hadn’t done since she was a little girl. She quietly wished that she weren’t alone. She’d even take one of her ghosts. 

Belial walked up the front steps to the grand arched doorway. They opened for him at the command of his mere presence, groaning with ancient age and ruin, and Belial entered without waiting for Lucie.

Her whole body trembled as she contemplated turning and running, when she felt something cool in all of the heat, brush against her left hand.

She looked down and found a nearly translucent hand gripping hers. When she looked up again, she met the pale eyes of a young woman’s face. The face was familiar, but Lucie couldn’t quiet place it, like a word dangling on the tip of her tongue. The ghost flickered in the wind and offered Lucie a shy smile. “You are not alone, Lucie Herondale. We are here to help you.”

“Help me what?”

The ghost turned forward again and disappeared in the wind as it rushed over Lucie as if conscious of the threat against this realm’s master. Lucie released a sigh as her name was called from inside the manor. 

When she didn’t immediately move, two black armored sentries that she’d thought were statues moved towards her. 

“Fine,” she kicked a cloud of dust at one and skirted past the other as she walked towards the door. 

The walls of the manor stood at least twenty feet tall and were the color of rich, fresh, never burnt coal that still had the diamond sheen to it. They rose and rose and rose into peaks that disappeared into complete darkness. The floor beneath her feet turned from darkened wood to a circular formation made of marble with a star upside down in the center. Realizing that she was standing in the center of it, Lucie took several hasty steps off until she nearly pressed herself against a wall. 

There was no warmth here. No light, no softness, no peace, like a place only murders, tyrants, and beast were buried. Lucie wanted to flea more than she’s ever wanted to run before, but she squared her shaking shoulders and fixed her eyes on Belial standing on the first landing of the staircase. A chandelier of onyx crystals hovered above him, tinkling whenever the house would shutter with the wind. 

“Follow me,” said Belial. “I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

“Staying?” Lucie’s voice echoed in the massive room, clanging off the walls like a trill bell. “What do you mean staying?”

Belial rubbed at the space between his eyes and exhaled. “Where you will remain until I say otherwise.”

“And here I was under the impression that world damnation was a rather pressing agenda,” balked Lucie. “If I’d known you needed a bit of nap first, I wouldn’t have put up such a fight.”

The house rumbled as Belial spun on Lucie. “I’m growing tired of your petulant little mouth. You can follow me to a room or you can stand there until I come for you. The choice is yours.”

“Now I get a choice?” Lucie hissed. “How kind of you.”

“You’ve always had a choice, Lucie. You could have chosen not to come with me and let your friend die.”

She bristled and crossed her arms across her chest. “A choice isn’t a choice when it’s forced upon you.”

“Well it’s yours now,” said Belial. “Choose wisely. All manner of questionable creatures lurk through these halls searching for lost souls to torment or devour.”

Is that what she was now, she wondered. Nothing more than a lost soul. She trembled to think of it.

As if on cue, a malicious laugh came from down the hallway and the sound crawled up her spine until the fine hairs rose on her neck. Belial was nearly to the top of the stairs; she was sure he wouldn’t descend after her if some unmentionable creature favored the taste of living flesh. If that was still indeed what she was. 

Lucie hurried to the steps but slowed as to not show her fear. 

Belial waited with his back to her staring at a grand portrait, bigger than any the queen had in the palace, of a scene that look quite biblical. If the Bible was written by a demon. Humans were at war with inhuman creatures: demons and monsters alike. The demons had massacred a fields worth of humans, the ground covered in blackness richer than the starless sky. The sky was painted purple, with thick clouds rolling towards the battle. Two peaks stood in the distance. On one stood a figure, the silhouette of a taloned beast raising his hands to the sky. Standing on the other mountain, a twin to the first, was a glowing figure the only bit of light in the darkness raising a sword over its head as if to throw it at the beast.

“The battle of good versus evil,” said Belial. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

“Yes,” said Lucie and swallowed. “However the version I’ve heard goes quiet a bit differently and it does not favor your side.”

“My side?” Belial’s dark eyebrow arched. “And which side do you suppose that is?”

“Well, the evil side,” said Lucie. “Death, destruction, pain, darkness—“

“And the good side doesn’t have any of those things?” asked Belial. “Death, destruction, pain, darkness— none? It’s wholly and completely good?”

“Yes,” said Lucie simply.

“Really?” Belial’s mouth twitched. “What about the death of your friends? What of young Jesse Blackthorns untimely death? Or illnesses? What about the destruction good endures to ensure good wins? What about the pain caused before good is achieved or the good pain causes when something ceases to be good? What then?”

“Those things are just evil seeping into the good,” said Lucie.

“And good cannot seep into what is evil?”

“Sure if can,” said Lucie. “At least, that’s we all hope for.”

“So it’s not so black and white is it,” said Belial. “It’s all a bit grey?”

“No,” said Lucie quietly. “It’s a balance.”

Belial look at her then, but she didn’t return the attention. She started at the two sides of the picture. Darkness devouring the light. She always thought that good was suppose to prevail. That light would chase away the darkness, but perhaps they both needed one another. Too much good can be a bad thing just as much as too much bad. 

Belial nodded. “We’re going to restore that balance.”

Lucie huffed a laugh. “Is the delusion you’re running on? No, you are not.”

“Good cannot always win,” said Belial. “That’s not balance. You’ll see.”

_And I’m the petulant one_ , thought Lucie, but thought better of saying as much. She followed Belial down the lightly lit hall where shadows flickered in the sconced candle light. He stopped at the third door down on the left and opened it. 

“You’re to stay here until I come for you,” said Belial. “The door is locked from the outside, so make yourself comfortable.”

Lucie stepped inside the dank room that smelled terribly of sulfur. A large bed stood pushed up against the wall with a four poster canopy hanging over it. The only other piece of furniture was a desk across from the bed where a candelabra flickered. 

“Enjoy your nap,” said Lucie as Belial slammed the door behind himself. 

After several moments, Lucie turned around away from the door to face the window when she came nose to nose with the ghost from earlier.

“By the angel!” She nearly scream. “What— How are you here?” She whispered in case he wasn’t far enough away to hear her.

“You summoned me,” said the ghost and walked over to the desk to examine the skull of what might have been a large rodent. 

“No, I didn’t,” said Lucie rather defensively. The ghost continued examining the room. “If I don’t know why you’re here then how can I be expected to trust you?”

The ghost straightened again, her white hair billowed out around her shoulders in an invisible wind. “Why I am here is up to you, Lucie. You summoned me.”

“I didn’t,” hissed Lucie, wanting to yell but knowing that she couldn’t. She backed up and plopped herself down on the end of the bed. “If I did, I didn’t mean to.”

“Why not?” asked the ghost as she came to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. Sit being the wrong word, she hovered over the mattress. “You’ve been our closest ally to the living world since you were a child. I used to sing to you when you were falling asleep. Do you remember?” She started humming a familiar song, one Lucie would often catch herself humming without knowing the words or where she’d learned it. 

“That was you?” 

The ghost nodded. “As you got older, your ability to send us away or call for us became stronger. We could no longer come and go as we pleased as you learned to keep us away. Soon, we could only visit you in your sleep.”

Lucie’s chest ached. “Is that what I am right now? Asleep?”

“No,” said the ghost. “No, you are very awake and still very much alive. And there’s work to be done, Lucie.”

“Work?” Lucie bristled. “Are you working for Belial? Are you here to make sure that I cooperate?”

The ghost chuckled. “No, I am here because you summoned me.”

“You keep saying that,” said Lucie. “But I have no idea who you are.”

“Of course you do,” said the ghost. “You just don’t remember.”

“Why would I summon you and not someone that I remember,” she challenged. “If you’re not working for Belial then prove it.”

“I will,” said the ghost. “When you defeat him. You will understand.”

“Defeat him? I don’t know how to defeat him,” whispered Lucie, her eyes burned with unshed tears. “I’m not the right person for this. I’m not as cunning as my brother, strong as my father, or brave as Cordelia. No, my strength lies in other things. They could find a way, I just know they could. My greatest weapon has always been my pen— my mind. I won’t be able to do this alone.”

“Then perhaps you don’t have to do this alone,” said the ghost. 

“What do you mean?” asked Lucie.

The ghost smirked. “Use your imagination, Lucie. What would one of your characters do if they were this situation with your abilities?”

Lucie thought for a moment if it were the beautiful Cordelia held prisoner. She’d probably manage to make a weapon with something around her or find a creative way to escape right underneath the villain’s nose. But she was not the beautiful Cordelia and this was not a story. 

“Sometimes our greatest strengths won’t arise until the moments we need them most.”

As if a light had been flipped by a switch, Lucie suddenly understood what was being asked of her and she was overcome with dread.

“What will everyone think of me?” asked Lucie. “They’ll think me a demon— a monster.”

“Nonsense.” The ghost patted Lucie’s hand or tried to, her hand slid through Lucie’s like softened butter. “They’ll think you a hero.”

“How could you know that?”

“They’d be stupid not to,” said the ghost. “And there was once a time when I was a bit different. At first I was afraid of who I was. I hid from it and that nearly cost me my own life and the life of the people I loved most. It wasn’t until I embraced my _otherness_ that I was able to find true happiness. And my fear of what those around me would think, well it seems I was wrong about them all along. They supported me. Sure, there were some that didn’t, but our paths rarely crossed and I didn’t bother with them. You have a family that adores you exactly as you are. Loyal friends that will welcome you and defend you. Pride is often the weakness of our greatest strengths. It’s time to stop living in fear of what other will think of you, Lucie, and embrace who you are; the abilities that only you have to offer.”

A tear dripped from Lucie’s chin. “I’m frightened.”

“Do it anyway,” said the ghost. “Remember you’re not alone. As a Shadowhunter, you’re never fighting alone. You have centuries of strength coursing through your veins . You need only call on it.”

“Who did you say you were again?”

“A very old friend.” The ghost stood and headed towards the door. 

“Where are you going?”

“To prepare,” said the ghost. “Don’t worry. We’ll see each other again very soon.”

The ghost floated through the door and disappeared. Her haunting words echoed in Lucie’s mind. 

She let herself fall back on the bed and stared at the blood red canopy above her. Draw on her ability; stop being so prideful; trust herself; rely on her own strength. No one was coming to rescue her, but that didn’t mean she was alone. Lucie knew what she needed to do. She wasn’t sure that it was entirely possible, but it was the only option she had, and she had to try. For her family, friends, and the world she was born to protect, she had to try.

If Belial wanted an army, then an army he shall have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year’s friends! I hope you kissed 2020 goodbye in a way that felt satisfying considering the monstrosity that was this crap bag of a year. While I like to rag on 2020 because of all it took from me and my family, there were some great things— like all of you for example. I am extremely grateful for your loyalty and passion for this project. Since it is coming to a close, I would like to ask something of all of you. I have been working on a project of my own this last year, and have been considering sharing it on Tumblr and Archive. It’s about a young nurse named Vienna, whose life is constantly at risk because of a secret born unto her— she’s part of a race of magic welders called the Magicki who are being hunted and destroyed by a paranoid tyrant king. Through her 20 years of life she’s managed to keep her secret well hidden from everyone, until one night she’s attacked by the king’s elite and brutal soldiers, and her own instincts rise to save her and also condemn her. The attack, along with rebellious acts against the king occurring in the city, starts a manhunt for those responsible. Vienna must learn to use her power or watch her people die. This story is told from the perspective of three different characters: Vienna the nurse, Kollins the daughter of a dangerous Lord, and Rhin a Captain in the king’s guard. While they may all come from different paths of life, their paths will inevitably cross, but can they set aside their prejudices enough to help one another or see an entire race be destroyed?
> 
> Sound any good? I’d love your opinions! I am thinking of posting the first couple of chapters for review. Please comment or message me if you are interested. As always stay safe, stay healthy, and stay kind. Next update is coming on January 10th


	26. The Story of Belial

Cordelia stood beside the window in the old study with James on her left. The warmth from the fire did nothing to ease the chill that had settled in her bones after returning from Cecily and Gabriel’s house without Lucie. It’d been three hours since their return. Who knew how long that meant Lucie had been enduring whatever misery she’d been dragged into. Her stomach clenched and she grimaced as if in pain at the thought of her dear friend, alone in that horrid place.

James, upon hearing her or sensing her distress, took her hand his, entwining his fingers with hers so their palms pressed together. His hands were warm against her cold skin and she let herself lean against his shoulder. The contact helped to relieve some the anxiety enough for her to listen to conversation around her.

Will leaned over the table with both hands firmly planted on the wood. A look of destructive rage and distress ebbed his features into someone Cordelia hardly recognized. He hadn’t been himself since word arrived to them of Lucie’s capturing.

Tessa sat on the sofa, her hands clutching each other in her lap as if she were praying. She hadn’t spoken much since the news. Her features didn’t twist in fear or anger or sadness. She looked like one of the pale shells Cordelia had found on the beach once. A fragile, beautiful thing with the sound of the ocean raging inside of it.

Magnus stood at the table beside Will. They both studied the ring that James, Cordelia, Alastair and Thomas retrieved from Tatiana’s cold finger, now sitting on the handkerchief Cordelia used to pry it off. Grace had quickly explained the significance of it once again to the adults before going after her brother who was being seen by Brother Zachariah in an adjoining room despite his pleas to help find Lucie. Jesse was his name. His affection for Lucie seemed to run far deeper than that of a friendship. Cordelia could see it in his beautiful, sea colored eyes, the concern for her friend. Not just concern, the desperation. A painful, consuming thing desperation can be and it was swallowing the young Blackthorn boy whole. Between Brother Zachariah, Grace, and Will, they managed to convince him to go and be treated to be sure that his resurrection brought back the Jesse Blackthorn of old and not a new weapon being used by Belial for whatever his plans might be.

“I still don’t understand why one of us can’t just put it on and summon the bastard,” said Will, his dark hair spotted with strands of gray fell in his face uncharacteristically. “If he wanted someone, why not come for one of us? Why my Lucie?”

Cordelia watched Tessa shudder and close her eyes at his words. She understood now what plagued Mrs. Herondale. It was not sadness, anger, or fear— perhaps a mixture of all of those things, but more importantly, there was guilt.

“We have no idea the power this rings manifests,” said Magnus, curiously. “All we know is that Tatiana _might_ have used it to contact Belial or he might have used it to contact her. If one of us were to put it on, we’d have no idea how to make it work.”

“So what should we do with it then?” Will demanded.

“I’m thinking,” said Magnus.

“Think faster,” said Will. “My daughter is trapped only the angel knows where with a prince of hell who plans to use her as a conduit of some sort. We don’t have time to sit and stare at it as if it’s going to rise and tell us what to do.”

“I understand your paternal concerns and while I sympathize, do not think for one moment if you continue to raise your voice at me in that condescending way I won’t turn you into a silent wall ornament until I figure out the best plan,” said Magnus without taking his eyes off of the ring.

Will moved back a step, voluntarily or not, Cordelia wasn’t sure. He had the good sense to bite back whatever was prepared to come out of his mouth next, but by the straining muscles in his jaw, it took a lot of effort.

James’s hand tightened around Cordelia’s. As much as she was drawing strength from him, it appeared he was drawing strength from her as well. She offered what she could and still felt as if it weren’t enough.

“There is something,” said Magnus quietly. “A spell. If there is anything tethered to this ring, it will reveal it.”

“Then why haven’t—“ Will took a deep breath through his nose and started again. “All right, is there a reason why you’re hesitant to do this spell?”

“Yes,” said Magnus and undid the buttons around his wrists so he could move his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. “It’s a revealing spell. It requires a lot of energy, energy that will leave me vulnerable and weak, but it will give us the information we seek.”

“Is it dangerous?” asked Tessa, the first words she’d muttered in over an hour.

“Only for me,” said Magnus, with so much kindness in his voice that tears sprung to Cordelia’s eyes.

“Magnus,” Tessa breathed.

“When your first child was born I thought you two idiots for bringing a helpless, vulnerable little creature into a terribly unfortunate world such as ours,” start Magnus as he stretched his fingers. “But the little bugger made the two of you so happy that it all seemed worth it. It made all the bad seem a little bit better. I didn’t possibly think you’d need anymore. Then the second one came along and your happiness tripled. I asked you once, why risk it? When you could lose everything so easily, why risk it? Do you remember what you said to me?”

Tears brimmed in Will’s eyes as he looked at Magnus. “Because a moment of that kind of pure happiness is worth a lifetime of sadness. That if I were to lose everything, if all I had left was the one memory of holding my child for the first time, I’ll have been grateful.” And to Tessa he said, “I am so grateful.”

Magnus nodded. “On each of their birth nights I made a silent promise to do whatever I could to protect and watch over them and do whatever I could to help in their times of trouble. I secretly prayed they’d have a lot more sense than their parents but it appears the apple does not fall far as the saying goes.”

James grimaced. “Just keeping life interesting.”

Magnus shook his head. “For this to work, I need absolute silence.”

“Would you like us to leave?” asked Cordelia.

“No,” said Magnus. “Just stay quiet.

He placed both hands inches above the ring and closed his eyes. At first nothing happened except Cordelia could feel the hair on her arms and neck rise to attention. She looked down at her arms at the tiny bumps that rose along her skin and noticed that James’s was doing the same. The air filled with an electricity like a brewing storm as blue sparks started to dance from Magnus’s fingertips.

The ring on the table began to rattle with enough force that the table shook beneath it. Soon Cordelia could feel the ground tremble beneath her feet.

“Reveal yourself,” whispered Magnus. “Who do you belong to?”

A picture fell from the wall inches behind Tessa, if it were not for Will’s quick movement, the thick frame would have landed on her head. He held her against him and settle back in the far side of the room where nothing could fall on them.

James, in a similar fashion, wrapped his arms over Cordelia’s head and his own. With limited visibility over his shoulder, Cordelia watched as the ring exploded with light, highlighting Magnus’s face with it’s blinding radiance.

“ _What is it you want?_ ” said a voice from the ring that Cordelia felt she faintly recognized.

“Your help,” said Magnus, eyes still closed. “We need your help, Tatiana.”

“Tatiana,” said Will before Tessa hushed him.

“ _And why should I help you, downworlder_?”

“Because we’re going to destroy the demon that murdered you,” said Magnus. “The one who took you away from your family. You can help us, if you can provide us with the information that we need.”

The ring went silent for a moment. Still rattling and glowing as the only sign that Tatiana was still there. The whole room seemed to hold their breath as they waited for a reply.

“ _What information do you need_?

“Did you communicate with Belial through this ring?”

“ _No_ ,” said Tatiana. “ _This ring belonged in my family for generations. It is nothing more than heirloom_.”

James cursed into Cordelia’s ear.

“Is there anyway for us to communicate with Belial _?”_

 _“Only if he wants you to_ ,” said Tatiana.

Magnus’s breathing hitched as his teeth grit together. “Is there anything you can tell us to help us fight against Belial?”

“ _Does he already have the child_?”

“Yes,” grunted Magnus.

“ _Then you are already doomed_.”

“No,” said Magnus. “There must be something we can do. Anything you can tell us.”

_“Arriving up here, manifesting himself the way he did, exerted an extreme amount of his power, he’s likely recharging in the Shadowrealm now. As with all great evils, Belial was spawned from one of the seven heads of the great dragon Tathamet. He lorded over the Realm of Lies in Hell, and was mentored by Mephisto, and like his mentor, he is always in the shadows._

_“A long time ago, the Lesser evils came to be discontent with the Prime Evils’ focus on humanity after the events of the Sin War, furious that the Great Conflict had been apparently abandoned. In the midst of this period, Belial and Azmodan saw a chance to overthrow the Prime Evils and take control of Hell for themselves. Belial manipulated Azmodan into making war against the Prime Evils. The two evils made a pact with their brethren, assuring them that humanity would not stand in their way in the course of the Great Conflict. Ruling over hell itself wasn’t enough for Belial, soon after he vested his time and efforts into Garreth Rau. An orphan with a spark of nephalem legacy in his blood, Rau was twisted by the Lord of Lies, becoming a powerful dark mage in servitude to Hell. Rue’s personality and memories were over written with the persona of the Dark One, an insidious and jealous mage. Belial planned to use Rau and his followers to build an army on Sanctuary, and after conquering the mortal realm, use it to launch an invasion against Heaven itself._

_“Belial’s plan was foiled by Cain and his allies. Despite possessing overwhelming power, The Dark One succumbed to Cain’s resourcefulness. The persona of the original Garreth Rau briefly resurfaced and drove himself to suicide. It appears Belial is trying to enact his plan once again_.”

“How do we stop him?”

“ _You can’t,”_ said Tatiana. “ _The only way to stop him was to keep him from possessing the child. Now that he has what he wants the only one who can stop him is the child.”_

Tessa sobbed into Will’s chest and James’s arms wrapped tighter around Cordelia. She had little means of consoling him as she felt as if she were shattering herself.

 _Lucie,_ she wanted to scream. _Her name is Lucie! Not the child!_

 _“I wish you luck,”_ whispered the ring. “ _If I may ask for one small favor for my knowledge?_ ”

Magnus’s hands shook as he held onto his power. “What is it?”

 _“Please, please give this ring to my daughter,”_ said Tatiana. “ _I would like to be with her in the only way that I can.”_

“I’ll see that it’s done,” grimaced Magnus.

And just as the door to the library burst open, Magnus released his grip on the ring and collapsed backwards into the awaiting arms of Matthew who has just come through the door with Christopher on his heels. Through a curtain of blond curls, he looked around the somber room and said, “What’d I miss?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry about the delay, but I hope you enjoy this chapter. Also, I will be posting on Friday of this week as well. Leave me comments!


	27. No Light, No Light

At some point, Lucie must have fallen asleep lying atop of the dusty blankets with the canopy swaying over her head and the sound of the wind blowing outside. She’d woken with a start at the groan of the door on its hinges and Belial standing at the foot of the bed.

The color had returned to his face, his hair was neatly combed back, dark like his eyes, and the velvet exterior of his coat and matching trousers. He fiddled with the silver cuff links on his wrists and grinned a Cheshire smile.

“You look well-rested,” said Lucie, fixing her wrinkled skirts. “I suppose it’s time then.”

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Does it matter if I am or not?” said Lucie, standing up from the bed and walking towards him, all while doing her best not to show any ounce of fear.

Belial’s eyes flickered over her face. “Follow me, please.” He turned on his heels and started down the hallway. After a moment and a few deep breaths, Lucie set out after him.

“For this to work, I need you to surrender wholly and completely to me,” said Belial as they walked. He turned to the left where another dark staircase ascended. The fact that he didn’t just snap his fingers or grab Lucie and appear in the room they were headed towards told Lucie that perhaps he was preserving his strength. Holding every last bit of it for whatever it was that he planned to do with her, this convergence or joining that he planned.

In truth, she’d been reserving as much strength as she could as well. She still wasn’t sure exactly how her plan would work, but somehow, it had to. From reading books of old, the legends, and the myths that her father and mother would bring to life, she recalled the gallant heroes in their times of desperation and their times of absolute weakness and what they would cling to. If only she could talk to her parents one more time if only she could hear their words of wisdom and listen to it for once. If only she could fold herself into their embrace and absorb their strength which they’d always given to their children so freely.

What would they say to her? What tether would they offer her? What could she say back to them?

_I’m sorry I never told you_ , she thought. _I was ashamed and I didn’t want it to be one more thing that mother had to feel guilty of or papa to feel he needed to protect._

They’d forgive her, she knew they would. Perhaps there would be time for forgiveness. Yes, she had to believe that she’d see them again.

They came to a door at the end of the winding staircase which opened on its own upon Belial’s presence. The room was empty of furniture and the roof looked the inside of a lighthouse with windows circling the perimeter. The blood-red sky leaked into the room illuminated the dust particles in the air. In the center of the room, carved into the black wood, were two circles overlapping so there were two sides and a sliver in the middle.

Fear gripped her throat and settled into her stomach like a stone. Tears sprang to her eyes as she bit down on her lip to keep it from trembling.

“Don’t be afraid, child,” said Belial. “It will all be over soon. I will have your body to occupy the world as I wish, and you will be a distant shadow, completely unaware, tucked away like a memory long forgotten.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I am going to take back what was taken from me a long time ago,” said Belial, and his hands drew into fists at his sides. “Come, the time is near.”

“My family,” said Lucie, as the tears spilled from her eyes. “What will you do with my family?”

“All the Nephilim must die, unfortunately,” said Belial. “Save for your mother and brother who have a spark of my blood still alive in their veins. I’ll offer them a chance to reign by my side.”

“They’ll never do it,” said Lucie. “They’ll fight you to their death.”

Belial grinned as he stood in the center of the left circle. “I wouldn’t be so sure. For fighting me means that they’ll be fighting you and while we are tethered, my death means your death. One cannot live without the other and so one shall not die without the other. If they believe that there is even just a breath of a chance that you are still alive, they’ll do whatever it takes to free you. But they won’t be able to.”

Lucie moved back a step towards the door. “And if I don’t, if I refuse?”

“I will kill your precious Cordelia,” said Belial. “You see when she was with me, I reached into her mind and took away her memories so that she wouldn’t remember that I injected her bloodstream with an undetectable poison that responds to my command and my command only. With just a snap of my fingers, Cordelia will be dead. Would you like for me to demonstrate?” With a wave of his hand, a picture appeared in a cloud of smoke of Cordelia sitting in the drawing-room of the estate with James beside her. They were staring at the fire together, hand entwined. The image zoomed into Cordelia her eyes red-rimmed and solemn.

“No,” cried Lucie. “No, please don’t. I don’t need a demonstration.”

Belial sneered and flicked his wrist.

Cordelia’s head snapped back, her mouth open as she gaped at the ceiling for air. James lunged from the sofa to crouch over her, holding her face in his hands. Cordelia’s face began to turn bright red as foam spilled from her lips.

“STOP!” cried Lucie. “STOP IT, PLEASE!”

“You won’t question me anymore?”

Lucie watched as James cried for someone to come help and Cordelia’s body began to convulse.

“It won’t just stop at Cordelia,” said Belial. “For every time that you deny me, I will make someone you love suffer. Say it and Cordelia and James can have their final moments together in peace or she can continue to suffer.”

“Stop!” begged Lucie. “I’ll listen, I’ll behave. I’ll do what you say, just please, don’t kill her.”

The image disappeared with another wave of Belial’s hand. “What does it matter if she dies now or later?”

Lucie shook with rage. She thought she felt the cool whisper of something brush up against her hand, across her palm, but she was too furious to notice.

And then she thought of it, what the ghost might have been trying to say. It seemed so obvious all of a sudden, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before. Perhaps because it was what she feared most of all.

She might not be able to defeat Belial in battle, but she could stop him. She could take away the one thing he needed to enact his plan.

She could remove herself.

But with what and how? She was out of time and with no weapons. There wasn’t even a nail she could pull out from the floorboards and all of her hairpins had spilled out at the Lightwood’s. She had nothing except the windows. The closest one to her was six feet to her left. There might be enough time for her to run and crash through the glass and fall to her death before Belial caught her. She feared what he might do as punishment if she didn’t make it, however.

Y _ou know what to do_ , a voice whispered in her mind.

_I don’t_ , she thought. _I don’t know what to do. Please help me_.

The voice went quiet again and Lucie almost screamed in rage.

“Come,” said Belial and stepped into the center of the two circles.

Lucie gasped as she pulled by an invisible hand towards the center of the room. She tried to drag her feet but the force was too strong. Her heels scraped across the floor as she dragged and deposited in front of Belial.

“I’ve waited a long time for you, Lucie,” said Belial and picked up her hands in his. “It’s almost over. You won’t remember a thing, I promise. You must step willingly into the center of the circle. It won’t work unless you do.”

Tears poured unabridged from Lucie’s eyes. She slammed them shut and pictured her mother, gray eyes, and mousy brown hair. 

Her Da with the same mischievous grin as her own. 

James and his stupid face, the first friend she’d ever known.

Cordelia, a friend, and a sister.

She thought of Jesse and all the things she never got to tell him. She wished she could have told him how she truly felt even if he didn’t feel the same.

_Fight, Lucie,_ rang the voice again. _You must figh_ t.

She opened her eyes and stepped forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As promised, part XVII for your reading pleasure. The next chapter is coming out on Sunday 1/24. Possibly the finale, but there might be one more. We shall see how much I get done. As always, thank you so much for reading, commenting, liking, and sharing. You guys are simply the best.


	28. The Last Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild Adult Content at the end of this chapter

Cordelia sat upon the chaise lounge staring wonderingly into the flickering red and orange curls of the fire the maid had just added fresh wood to. Her eyes felt like cotton, no matter how many times she blinked. She could not erase the images of Tatiana Blackthorn’s story in her mind. Images of Belial— of Lucie— doing horrible things to this world under his control.

She thought of her dearest friend and the years of secrets she’d managed to keep well within herself. Secrets Cordelia could only wish Lucie would have felt comfortable enough to share with Cordelia, of all people.

Despite herself, she could not help but wonder whatever she’d done to cause Lucie to feel she could not trust her with such sacred information. Perhaps she could have been of more help.

But then how could she judge her friend for harboring secrets when Cordelia herself had plenty of secrets of her own. Perhaps they could have helped each other.

As her mother was always preaching, it doesn’t do to dwell on the past. The future can be changed.

The old grandfather clock in the study rang eleven times marking the hour. She’d left the drawing-room to allow the Herondale’s their space to discuss the rescue of Lucie; however, no one seemed to have a logical plan without knowing exactly how to access her. James took Matthew and Christopher aside to fill them in on the details of the afternoon.

Not wishing to be in the way or draw attention to herself, Cordelia snuck away into the study and found herself curling up on the sofa for the past hour.

When her legs had grown stiff and the fire had dwindled to a pile of flickered black coal at the bottom, the door to the study creaked open on aged hinges.

The firelight created shadows over James’s face making him look more beautiful than he already was. His eyes had lost the spark they used to hold except when they fell upon Cordelia. Even know as his gaze found her on the lounge, his shoulders dropped away from his ears and a small smile lifted at the corners of his mouth. Her heart sped up just a bit. “There you are,” he said. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Cordelia smiled as much as she could manage and pulled the throw blanket up over her shoulder.

“You slipped away without telling anyone.” He came to stand beside the end of the lounge where Cordelia’s bare feet rested.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she said and filled her lungs. “I wanted your family to have a moment to talk. I did not want to be in the way.”

“Cordelia,” said James and slowly sank onto the edge of the lounge. “You are never in the way. Lucie is as much your family as she is my own.”

“Thank you for saying that,” said Cordelia, “But I cannot help—“ The words trapped in her throat.

James tenderly and without hesitation reach up and brushed a fallen strand of hair away from her face. His finger curled underneath her chin and he lifted her eyes to meet his own.

“I know what troubles you,” he said, his golden eyes flickered across her face. “They are the same troubles as my own. But this is not your fault.”

Cordelia exhaled sharply. “If I just been more available to her.”

“No.” James cupped her face between his hands. “Lucie still would have kept her secrets and Belial would have gone even farther to acquire her, even so far as removing one of us from his way.”

Cordelia nodded and pressed her cheek into his palm. “I just feel so useless. I want to go after her— I want to do something.”

“As do I,” said James. “But after what Tatiana said, Magnus assured us that the best thing we can do is prepare for Belial’s first strike. If he’s already possessed Lucie then we must find a way to separate them. If she’s managed to fight him away, then we’ll be ready to assist her. Whatever the case, we must wait.”

She hated waiting. Never having been very good at it in her short seventeen years.

“She must be so scared,” said Cordelia, imagining her time alone with Belial. It’d been the most terrifying experience of her life second to almost losing James.

James took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “If I know anything about my sister, she is not making this time pleasant for Belial. I would almost be more concerned for his sanity rather than her own.”

“Are you trying to make light of this situation?”

James scowled. “On the contrary, I’m being quite serious.” He turned on his hip and stretched his legs out beside Cordelia. The chase lounge was just large enough to hold them both. It still felt odd to be alone with James without a chaperone, as if someone were to walk in on the two of them she’d still find her reputation compromised in some way, but then she remembered that her reputation had been quite compromised in all the ways it counted. For this man, she’d found herself in ruin. For this man, she’d given up the life dreamed and worked for her. And for this man, she’d do it again.

To offer him comfort; to offer him what strength she could give him, she’d do it again.

And tonight it seemed they needed both from each other. James leaned his head back and looked up at the wallpapered ceiling.

“Where has everyone gone off to?” She asked, tucking herself closer to his arm.

“My father and mother have gone to Henry and Charlotte’s to inform the Consul of Belial’s plan,” said James as if recited a list. “Grace and Jesse are with the Silent Brothers. Matthew and Christopher were called to report to Charles about today’s patrol. Nothing interesting to report except for a rouge Deatrix demon that was living in the sewers in Bath and a rogue werewolf with a mighty big temper. Alastair took your mother to a secondary location in case Belial decides to come here first and Thomas went with him, I believe. That’s about everyone. No one could find you to invite you along.”

“Oh James, you shouldn’t have stayed on my account,” said Cordelia. “I would have been perfectly all right.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” said James. “In truth, I wanted to stay behind. My mother has enough to handle with my father and the consul, whom I’m sure he’ll share some choice words with if they so much as attempt to condemn or criticize my mother for the kidnapping of Lucie. She did not need my company there as well. And I did not go with Matthew and Christopher on patrol as you well know, so I would have had nothing to report.”

“Is that all?”

“And…” James turned to look at Cordelia. “I much prefer your presence over any of theirs.” His eyes drifted down to Cordelia’s mouth and lingered there a moment before he met her gaze again. When he moved closer towards her, the warmth of his breath brushed against her lips, and she did not move. A silent, welcoming answer to his question. His mouth covered hers in a kiss that started soft and tender. She felt his hand slide across her waist to wrap around her back and he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.

A quickening fluttered in her core as his hand moved over her hip and down her thigh.

She felt as if she could scarcely breathe. She needed, wanted him closer. As if in response to some inner demand, her hands slid from the curve of his jaw, down the plains of his chest where muscles and bones contracted beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Her fingers found the hem and the soft, warm skin that lie beneath.

James shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly.

He chuckled against her mouth. “Your fingers are cold.” He held her hand where it was against his abdomen. The lines and peaks of each muscle that could be felt along her fingertips had her breathing erratic again.

“A thought for a thought, Cordelia,” whispered James.

She did want to expose what she was thinking.

She looked up at him. His pupils were dilated making his eyes more black than gold. He watched her for a long moment, his eyes following the flick of her tongue over her bottom lip. “Cordelia. You’ve started calling me Cordelia— not Daisy. Why?”

His hand tightened around her own stopping its trail right above her heart. “When I gave you that nickname, we were but children. Whenever I saw you thereafter, I pictured you amongst those delicate flowers. But we are not children anymore. Ever since that moment I watched dance at the Hell Ruelle, Daisy just didn’t seem appropriate anymore. I look at you now and I can scarcely breathe. I look at you and I think about wanting you so badly that I have trouble concentrating on little else. I think about how I almost lost you and what I would do if I ever did.”

Her heart stumbled a beat. She no longer knew what to do with her arms, her legs, her face. She steeled her spine for what she was about to say, “I’m thinking— I’m thinking how if this is to be our last night alive— the last night we have with one another, then there is no one else in the world that I’d rather be spending it with. I’ve loved you since I was a little girl. And to hear you say such things… God, it feels as if I might burst. And given the current situation, considering our efforts should be focused on Lucie, perhaps that makes me a terrible person or a woman worthy of ruin—“

“It doesn’t,” he said and pressed his forehead against hers. “For tonight, there are no expectations, I just want to hold you. I want you as close as you’ll allow me.”

Cordelia sank closer into him as she drew her hand away out from underneath his shirt. She took his hand that was holding her face and showed him exactly how and where she wanted to be touched. The rough callouses of his fingers grazed the side of her neck, down to her shoulder, and over the full contours of her breasts, that felt too full for her usual corset.

His eyes never left hers as his hand kept moving down her stomach and only paused when he reached her lower abdomen.

“Have you ever—?” She blushed. “With anyone?”

James shook his head. “Though Matthew is quite vocal about his own endeavors, I have not.”

“Not even Grace?”

James shook his head again. “Grace and I barely shared a kiss. What you and Lucie saw that night was nothing more.” His fingers played with the fabric of her gown. “We don’t have to do anything tonight unless you wish to.”

“Do you wish to?”

His nose grazed her jaw and she arched beneath him. “I am yours, Cordelia. In whatever way you will have me, I am yours.”

Something hard pushed against her center. Heat flooded her and the breath was stolen from her lungs.

He let her lead for a time. Her shaking hands unbuttoned his shirt and helped remove it from his shoulders. She discovered every inch of his bare chest, kissing her way up until he couldn’t stand it any longer and he claimed her mouth.

He made quick work of unbuttoning her gown and with inhuman strength, he broke the small clasps of her corset ripping it open where it was secured at her front. When she was free, he took his own time discovering her. An exhilaration and ecstasy she’d never felt came over her with each tender kiss to her exposed flesh. All the while her body begged for more. For him to be closer. For the burning to stop.

When the moment came, it was not as she’d always feared as a young girl. There was a brief moment of discomfort, but she clung closer to James relishing in the way their bodies responded and adapted to one another. Then there was no more pain, only pleasure. At that moment, she understood why this act was so forbidden. Why worried mothers guarded their daughters and men climbed rafters and went to war. Because to be so close to him, to feel his heart beating against her own chest, Cordelia could not remember a time when she’d been happier or more loved.

Whatever happened tomorrow, or the days granted after, no longer mattered. For the night, she’d forget about the end of the world. They’d help each other to forget.

* * *

The grandfather clock chimed again this time with four distinct rings. Cordelia stirred besides James, his arms were banded around her, his breathing deep and even. He was already awake and gazing at the ceiling above them. His index finger drew lazy patterns across her bare shoulder.

For a moment, she wondered if it’d all been a dream. But from the slight, delicate tenderness between her legs, she knew it had not.

“Are you all right?” James whispered into her hair.

Carefully, she twisted to face him. His arms tightened around her as if to keep her from disappearing.

“Yes, quite,” she said quietly.

His eyes were solemn as he looked at her.

“What is it?” She asked. A terrible fear came over her that he might be having some regrets. “Did I do—“

“Will you marry me?” The words spilled from him and seemed to bring with a quick release. “For real this time? Would you be—“

Before he could ask again, Cordelia had flattened herself against him, pressing her mouth to his.

“Yes,” she smiled deeply. Without warning, he sat up so that she was straddling his lap. “Yes.”

His broad hands slid around her back as he kissed her. Neither of them thinking of the troubles to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: I have been so hesitant to post this! I’ve read of it twelve different times and even had my friend read it. You all can blame her for this because she said go for it. It’s not as good as any CC can write, but I thoroughly enjoyed letting James and Cordelia get frisky. Sorry for the wait! I shall see you next Monday 2/1 and we’ll be back to see what Lucie’s up to. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. As always, thank you for reading, liking, and reblogging this story. It seriously means SO much to me.


	29. It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn

It was still a few hours until dawn when Cordelia woke with a stubborn kink in her shoulder and with all of her fingers numb and tingly in her left hand where it was trapped underneath James's arm. His slow, even breath tickled the hairs at the top of her head and his diaphragm pressed against hers. Her nose was pressed against his chest, breathing in the delightful smell of cedar, mint, and the unique sweet scent that only belonged to James. It was like standing in a garden after it had rained. She inhaled deeply and traced the pale outline of a rune that had been carved just below his right clavicle.

“Did you just—“ She could hear the smirk in his voice. “—smell me?”

Cordelia stopped her tracing and slid her hand up and around his shoulder, drawing him closer. “I did. Is that odd? I thought you were asleep.”

The arm that he had lazily draped across her waist tightened. “Do you often smell people in their sleep?”

Cordelia blushed. “No, that is reserved only for you. I very much like the way that you smell.”

For the moment, they allowed themselves the chance to pretend that in a few short hours that they would not have to face a battle that might define the rest of their lives or the end thereof. For the moment, they were merely two souls in love; not bound together by propriety or social ingenuity or lies or secrets, but because they saw past all of those things to the core of the other person.

Any moment they would be called to fight; come what may, because that was who they were. Fighters. Hunters. Guardians. They were stories told at night to young children to make them feel safe from the monsters that not only lurked underneath their very beds but also from the monsters that haunted the night. They were myths and legends, born into a society that trained them to fight so that the mundane could live, but never something they chose for themselves.

For now, they got to choose to be something different— to be ordinary.

Cordelia pressed her forehead into his chest as he drew lazy circles on her bareback.

She was surprised at how little she cared when it came to modesty. She wanted to feel every part of him; to memorize the feeling of his jaw underneath her fingertips. To trace the bands of muscle around his arms down to the callouses on his hands received from hours of training with knives. She slowly explored every scar, every freckle, every part that made him tense or groan with pleasure.

She tilted her chin up and brushed her nose along his chin. He met her mouth with his and she memorized the feeling of his lips against hers. The sound that emanated from the back of his throat as she slid her foot up the inside of his calf sent a swirl of pleasure through her center.

“Everyone is probably still asleep or in their bedrooms,” she said against his mouth. “I should slip away before we’re found.”

James dragged his hand from where it’d tangled in her hair, down across her jaw, and cupped her cheek. “You’ll stay close during the battle? And if things start to turn against us, I want you to grab my mother and run. Run as far away as you can. If Belial— if his plan works, then he will not hesitate to kill you or use you in some heinous way against me. I need to know that there is a plan in place. I need to be able to hold onto that.”

There were a hundred things she wanted to say; things she wanted to promise him. Belial wouldn’t win. He couldn’t. He’d been defeated before and he could be defeated again. They would see each other after.

“We’ll go together,” she said.

James’s grip tightened. “If I can’t. If for whatever reason I am detained or— or if I’ve fallen, you must promise me that you will run.”

“James—“ Surely, he couldn’t expect her to make such a promise. “Do you not expect us to win?”

“Please Cordelia,” he pressed his forehead against hers.

She started to move away from him, a weight pooled in her stomach. “Is that what this was about? Just in case we didn’t have another chance?”

“What?” His hand slid back into her hair. “No, God, Cordelia. Is that what it was for you?”

“No,” she scoffed. “I told you, I told you the night I left how I felt about you. It has not changed.”

“And I told you last night that I am yours.” He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her mouth, her neck. “I’m not asking you not to fight. I’m not asking you to run. I just— I need to know that if something happens to me and I cannot get to you that you will do what you must to stay alive.”

Cordelia felt as if she could hardly breathe. She needed him to fight and if that meant that she had to make a promise that she may not fully intend to keep, then she would.

So she swallowed and nodded.

They dressed quickly. While he was lacing his boots, she slipped into just her dress and gathered her broken corset into her arms. She didn’t like it much anyway. She found the newly fashionable brasiers to be vastly more comfortable, but they could hardly afford them and her mother did not approve. She said they were for "girls of questionable morals".

She bent at the waist as he lifted his head to look at her and kissed him. A sweet, leisurely kiss that felt all too much like a goodbye.

“I’ll meet you in the drawing-room in twenty minutes,” she said and kissed him one more time before she slipped from the doorway.

The Institute was empty except for Bridget singing in the kitchen a somber Irish tune. The sound followed Cordelia up the stairs to her bedroom. She pressed her back against the door, closed her eyes as her clothes tumbled from her arms onto the floor. She felt trapped between both the feeling of complete elation, misery and fear in a web that she could not easily untangle herself from.

But she didn’t have time for all that.

She set her chin and went about removing her dress.

After cleaning herself up from a basin in the bathroom, she found her gear in a drawer and dressed. A pair of black, leather trousers that hugged her curves and made it easier for her to kick or run. A black blouse that swooped across her chest and a girdle that protected her center, held in place by straps that concealed an assortment of weapons. She went about braiding her hair and then twisting it into a knot at the nape of her neck and secured it with pins.

She dug her boots out of the small closet and fastened the leathers with just enough room left to secure a few throwing knives.

Cortana rested against the wall beneath the window where she had left it. She picked it up and drew the blade out of the scabbard relishing in the harmonic sound it made upon being set free. With her hand wrapped around the hilt, the balance was perfectly even.

It had never let her down before; it would not let her down now.

She slid it back into its scabbard and slid her arm through the strap, so the blade lay across her back.

Commotion came from downstairs as she descended into the foyer. She looked to her left into the drawing-room and saw Matthew’s golden head of hair first. He was applying runes to James where they stood by the fireplace. Thomas and Christopher sat on the sofa while Christopher applied runes to Thomas. Anna stood on the opposite end of the room with a dark-haired girl that Cordelia quickly recognized as Ariadne Bridgestock. They were standing close to one another as if whispering in each other’s ear as Anna applied a rune to Ariadne’s forearm.

When she looked to her right from her place of the stairs, Will, Tessa Charlotte, Cecily, Gabriel, Gideon, and Sophie were all huddled in the foyer talking or rather listening to Charles who stood in the center of the group. Will kept his arm around his wife. She looked like something that could at any moment shatter at the harshest of sounds. Will looked moments away from shoving Charles into a wall for something he was saying to the group. Even Charlotte’s mouth fell open at what her son was suggesting.

Cordelia suspected that it had something to do with Lucie and imagined Will finally hitting him in the stomach. She smirked at the image and turned to her left when a hand caught her arm.

Alastair turned her and looked her over quickly. He untwisted the strap on her shoulder and smoothed the leather. “You look tired. Did you not sleep?”

Cordelia balked and crossed her arms defensively. “Yes, I slept peacefully while my best friend is trapped with a greater demon that wants to use her as a host to imprison the entire world and all of my friends and family are about to face a terrible, bloody battle to end him which might also mean the end of my best friend.”

“I’m sorry,” said Alastair.

“Don’t be sorry,” seethed Cordelia. “Help me with my Marks.”

He drew a stele from his pocket as Cordelia began to roll up her sleeves.

“How is mum?” She asked as the tip of the knife touched her skin.

“Worried,” said Alastair as his dark hair spilled into his face. “I had to give her a calming rune and dose her tea with a sleeping serum Brother Zachariah gave me to get her to rest. It’s not good for the baby.”

“Will you stay with her?”

Alastair looked up at her. “Do you think that I should?”

“I think one of us should,” she said. “If she loses one of us it will be devastating, but if she loses both of it, well, it could destroy her.”

Alastair pulled down her sleeve as he finished the swiftness rune on her right arm. She could feel its power thrumming through her veins and she suddenly felt more sure on her feet. He pushed up her left sleeve and started working on a strengthening rune. “Mother knew the world that we were being born into. She knew we would not grow to be lawyers, bankers, fisherman, seamstresses, simpletons, or the like… when I was three I held a blade in my hand and learned to disembowel Raum demons.”

“You were three?” Cordelia looked up at him. “Mother wouldn’t let me hold a blade until I was done with my first year of primary studies. She insisted I learn how to spell my name before I killed a demon.”

They both laughed. He finished with the strengthening rune and rolled down her sleeve. He twirled his fingers for her to turn around. She faced the wall and he pulled aside her collar to expose her left shoulder blade.

“What on Earth!” hissed Alastair as he pushed her head to expose her neck. “Cordelia, you have a bruise underneath your— Cordelia.” His voice hitched. “Tell me this is not what I think it is.”

Cordelia instantly clamped her hand over her neck and spun back around. She had not seen it there. She barely had time to look in the mirror as she dressed and she was too preoccupied with her hair to notice.

Her cheeks instantly turned red and she fought for a valid excuse. “I burnt myself with a curling rod.” She surprised herself with how quickly she’d come up with it. “I’ve been so preoccupied lately that I haven’t applied an _iratze_. It’s fine. Why? What did you think it was?” She kept her voice sweet, convincing.

Alastair narrowed his eyes and glanced over her shoulder to where James now applied runes to Matthew. He cleared his throat. “Well, it looks like—Nothing. Be more careful. Turn back around so I can finish.”

She spun back around and pressed her chilled palm to her cheeks to help cool the blush.

As the strength, fearless, and multiple other fighting runes sank into her skin and sang with her blood, she felt significantly less vulnerable. When she finished applying runes to Alastair, Charles appeared in the foyer and called to gather everyone in.

Alastair sheathed his stele and grumbled something under his breath that Cordelia could hear but the words “power-hungry” and “fraud” stood out. She nudged him with her shoulder and they walked in.

Cordelia’s eyes wandered around the faces in the room. The air hummed with anticipation and power, like the minutes before a cannon burst. She stood between Will and Alastair. Across from her stood James and Matthew. She caught his eyes and held them for a long moment before Charles began to speak.

“Here is the plan—“ he started.

Under his breath, Cordelia heard Will mutter. “Fuck this plan…”

She had heard him curse before but never intentionally in her presence. He was in the kitchen alone when he burnt himself on a fresh meat pie and yelled a string of profanities that would have made a bar fly blush. Lucie and Cordelia giggled and scurried away before he could see them.

“You all may not like it,” said Charles, “but it is how it is going to be or you can face the judgment of the Clave.”

“Fuck the Clave,” muttered Will.

Cordelia glanced at Alastair who had his head down and was noticeable smirking.

“Is there something you would like to say, Mr. Herondale!” Charles stuttered. “Or can I continue?”

“If you think I am going to let you give them the order to target my daughter,” started Will, clearly unable to contain himself any longer. "Then you are sadly mistaken. You a poor excuse for a Fairchild."

“What?” Cordelia said and stepped forward into the circle. “Target her how?”

“Our mission is to detain, Lucie Herondale,” said Charles as his voice started to rise. “By whatever means necessary.”

“What does that mean?” said James. “Whatever means necessary. Are you talking about killing her?”

“Of course it is not our intention, but if the situation deems necessary,” said Charles as voices continued to build. He closed his eyes and his mouth pinches into a thin line. “Listen to me! Listen! I understand that you all wish to save the Herondale girl, but—“

“Lucie,” said Cordelia. “Her name is Lucie. You can try to dissociate from that fact, but the rest of us cannot.”

“Lucie,” repeated Charles, “is for all we know gone already. We have no idea the kind of power that she now wields after being merged with Belial. We have no idea what she is capable of. She may not hesitate to raze us all to the ground. All that I am asking is that you extend her the same courtesy.”

“You are talking as if it would be her intent,” said Matthew. “She wouldn’t be the one choosing to raze us to the ground it would be Belial inside of her.”

Charlies rolled his jaw. “It won’t matter, she will be consumed by him.”

"That doesn't make them the same!" shouted Will.

“What if we can somehow separate them?” asked Thomas and looked to Christopher.

“It’s possible,” said Cordelia. “It’s been done before. You heard Tatiana or Tatiana’s ring rather.”

Will visibly flinched and Tessa exhaled.

“She’d have to end herself,” said Magnus. “If his host is no longer alive, then neither is he. It would mean suicide.”

The room grew quiet and the power and anticipation evaporated, replaced with an icy chill that settled into Cordelia’s bones.

_“Not every bit of a good story is true,” said Lucie. Her cheeks were bright pink. “It’s the story that important.”_

“If there is any way to save the—Lucie, then, by all means, do so,” said Charles, interrupting Cordelia’s thoughts. “But if the moment arrives, when it comes between ending Belial’s rampage and saving her… then do the right thing. Or suffer the consequences in the end, whatever they may be.” He glanced at his watch. “It is nearly dawn. We should all start to prepare. Magnus said the contact points could be central London, the Thames, or the Tower Bridge. I want people stationed at all of those locations and the back-up will follow upon his arrival. If there is no activity in ten hours then we will reconvene here.”

He pushed past Anna and Ariadne as he left the circle and stalked towards the door. Will had turned and was holding Tessa. Matthew had his hand on James’s shoulder who was staring with intent down at the floor.

She turned to Alastair. “Where were we when we were attacked by the demon while in the carriage?”

His eyes searched hers. “Just before we reached the bridge over the Thames. Why?”

“I think that’s where he’s going to come from,” said Cordelia in a low voice. “And that’s where we should be. I’m not going to let them kill her.”

“Cordelia—“

_“The brave princess Lucretia raced through the marble halls of the palace. "I must find Cordelia, " she gasped. "I must save her."_

“I must save her,” she said and hugged him so only he could hear. “Will must help me try?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized sentences are paraphrased from Chain of Gold by Cassandra Clare.   
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter.   
> Update is coming next week Mon, 2/8.


	30. We're All Bound To Break

Even as the day began to break along the western horizon, the sky remained dark with purple and gray clouds that seemed to swirl and spiral above them. Flashes of light flickered in the tendrils and if Cordelia watched closely enough, she thought she saw images, or rather, shapes crawling over the crevices. Perhaps it was only a trick of the light, but something intrinsic, wholly a part of her, rallied for the fight ahead.

When she imagined Belial emerging from his realm, she always supposed that it would be from underneath the ground. He’d crawl up from the sewers like a rat in the night. But as the storm continued to turn and the thunder rumbled over their head, she realized that he’d used the sky as a portal every time before. He always did prefer an entrance.

She kept a firm hold around Alastair’s waist as they raced through the cobblestone streets. Cortana hit her back with each rock of the horse’s powerful legs, but she did not mind it. The sensation acted as a reminder of all the ways she planned on burying her sword to the hilt of Belial’s body. This time she would end him for good.

A flash of lightning hit a lamp post to their left, prompting the young horse to rear and bolt to the right. Cordelia lost her hold on Alastair and slid gracelessly off. She rolled once, twice, but then pushed herself to her feet. Her runes left her with nothing but a dull ache that throbbed in her elbow. It was sure to bruise later, but she hardly noticed as she secured a fallen strand of hair behind her ear.

She could hear her name called behind her, but her focus centered on the massive hole opening up in the sky, just over the bridge. Sleet began to rain down, pelting her in the forehead, shoulder, and when she caught one in her hand she found that it was black as coal.

From the centre she could see a figure floating down towards the earth.

“Cordelia!” Alastair came beside her. “It's not safe out in the open! We need to find cover!”

Cordelia stepped out of her brother’s grasp. “I want him to see me.”

Alastair shouted something again, but she stalked forward against the powerful wind that was a mixture of hot and cold air against her exposed skin.

Carriages and single ridden horses started to arrive behind her. She could see across the bridge where more Shadowhunters had gathered. A flash of red hair had her clenching her jaw as Charles raised a loaded crossbow on his shoulder and aimed it at the sky.

A car backfired behind her, drawing her attention away for a moment as Matthew, Anna, Christopher, and Thomas emerged from the Algernon in a flash of black and silver gear and weapons. Her heart thundered loud in her throat as a black horse skid to a stop beside the car and James dropped down releasing the reins so the horse could bolt away.

He gave her a nod, a silent reassurance of his support, before he turned to talk to the others.

“What's the plan?” Alastair called over the sound of the wind.

Before she could respond a demon with the body and head of a snake, and wings that could bridge the Thames flew from the hole in the sky, followed by six others. Flashes of lightning danced around them hitting the ground and billowing smoke into the air.

Cordelia didn’t shutter. She planted her feet on the ground and drew Cortana from its hilt and held it in both hands in front of her. The blade so thin it barely created a line in her vision as a Drothki Demon flew straight towards her. Open mouth with teeth dripping venom as it screamed in its descent.

It landed on its belly a few feet away from Cordelia before coiling backward as a cobra would before it strikes and let out an ear rupturing scream.

Cordelia raised Cortana. “Where is your master?”

“Coming,” it hissed, in an ancient, cruel voice that was both female and male. “We have come to prepare a path for master. It can begin with you.”

Cordelia leveled her shoulders and tightened her grip around the golden hilt of her blade.

More demons flooded from the sky and up from the grey waters of the Thames. Demons she recognized and some that she didn’t; from every circle of hell, began to crawl or slide their way towards them.

The Drothki demon reared back, opened its massive jaws, and arched forward her like an oversized Jack-in-the-box towards where Cordelia was standing. She waiting until it was almost above her before arching her blade and tucking into a summersault away. She felt the warm, burn of ichor as it dripped onto her gloved hands, but luckily it couldn’t reach her skin.

She spun around on her feet and saw the slash at the right corner of the demon’s mouth. It shook its head irritably and hissed as it tried to find her again, but she’d started running and before it could strike a second time, she drove Cortana into the anchor of its right-wing and with a great effort, she pulled up and managed to sever the wing completely.

The beast roared and tried to reach her as she ran along the length of its body and slid off the base of its tail.

The weight of its left wing forced it to lean to the left as dark ichor seeped from its wounds. A moment later, it vanished in a puff of black smoke. Alastair had driven his glowing seraph blade into the beast’s core. His hair had fallen in his face and there was ichor slashed across his cheekbones. With his teeth clenched, he ordered her to go.

She spun around, her braid nearly whipping her in the face, and she launched herself towards the bridge; towards the opening where Belial as Lucie was still making his descent. She had to be there before Charles could take his shot-- before he could kill her. Before Cordelia even had a chance to save her friend.

A translucent spider-like demon the size of a small automobile jumped into her path and reached for her with two giant front pincers. Cordelia dodged the right one, but the left one managed to clip her on the shoulder as she moved away. The razor edges sliced through the fabric of her shirt and bit into her skin. With a yell, she stumbled backward and landed on her side in the road. Clutching her shoulder, she felt the heat of her blood through her glove as it dripped down her chest and her back. The demon spun on its eight translucent legs towards her. It snapped its two fangs that dripped venom onto the ground and left sizzling marks in the stones. It raised its pincer again and struck for her, but she rolled, screaming when she landed on her shoulder for a moment and then pushed up back to her feet.

She raised her blade again, ready to remove the claws from the beast, when it suddenly reared backward, its front legs curling in towards its center the way a bug does when it dies and evaporated in a mist.

James dropped to the ground in a crouch in front of her. A long slash stood out against his pale skin along his neck and dripped blood onto his collar. Behind him, the fighting commenced between demons and her friends. Christopher and Anna were working on a Hydra demon with its middle head dead and dragging on the ground, while the other two heads attacked Christopher and Anna.

Matthew taunted a Dahak demon. The combination of lizard and alien with eight slimy octopus-like legs reached for him but he dodged and slid around it until he had a clear mark on its ginormous head. As soon as the blade slid it, it disappeared back to its home realm. He had a momentary reprieve before a Behemoth demon emerged behind him.

Thomas and Alastair battled another Drothki demon, this one a blackish-red that used its tail as a whip.

Demons, more demons than she’d ever seen in her life, started to swarm them. The other side of the bridge was no different.

James stepped towards her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and turned to look at the hole still in the sky. “Help them!”

“What are you going to do?”

She turned around as the figure in the sky was near to the ground now; right in the centre of the bridge.

Cordelia didn’t wait to answer, she broke into a run again, ignoring the pain in her injured shoulder.

A swarm of Imp demons started towards her. She grabbed her seraph blade from her belt and whispered its name. It blazed with angelic light that had the Imp demons scattered away from her back towards the darkness.

Lucie was nearly on the ground now. Cordelia could make out the hollow features of her face that used to be full and pink, were not gray and sallow. Her mousy hair floated around her in the wind, unbound and limp. Her eyes, which used to be a stormy blue, were now black and expressionless as they scanned the scene around her.

Cordelia wanted to cry out. Any sign of her dear friend was gone behind the mask Belial had subtle slid over her. For a moment, fear crept over her and she allowed the thoughts to enter her head: what if they were too late? What if Lucie was really, truly gone? What if there was no other way?

Movement caught her eye on the opposite side of the bridge. A flash of red. Charles had just destroyed a Mantid demon and was free to aim his crossbow at Lucie.

No! She wasn’t sure if she said it aloud, but it screamed in her mind as Cordelia threw herself forward. Ignoring the Imp demons that scurried behind her as she ran with the light towards her friend.

Cordelia watched as the arrow left Charles’s crossbow and a Behemoth demon emerged from behind him wrapping its jaws around his shoulder and dragging him back as the arrow spiraled through the air towards Lucie.

If she were to blink, she would have missed it.

Lucie’s hand stretched out and caught the arrow in her barehand before it could hit its target. It evaporated into a dark mist in her fist. As Lucie turned to see where the attack had come from, it gave Cordelia the opportunity she needed. She sheathed Cortana and the seraph blade as her feet pounded soundlessly into the ground with each step she took. The sound of her breathing and the wind rushing through her ears were the only things she could hear.

I don’t have very many friends.

I’ll be your friend.

And one day we can become Parabatai! Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

It would… more than anything it would.

The collision nearly knocked the two of them to the ground as Cordelia wrapped her arms around her small friend’s neck the way they’d done when they were girls after not seeing each other for a long while. The hug was not reciprocated, although she wasn’t being shoved away either. No knife or weapon entered her body, though if it had she wasn’t sure she would be able to tell with the power that thrummed through her veins just being beside Lucie now.

“Lucie,” she called. “Please, Lucie, if you can hear me. I’m here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Foolish—“ crackled a deep voice in her ear.

Cordelia only hugged her tighter. She felt a rumble of energy between them and with a burst of light her arms were pulled from around Lucie, and she was pushed through the air. She landed hard on her back, skidding a couple of inches along the ground before she stopped.

Lucie stalked towards her, her focus black and unforgiving.

“What did you think would happen?” It was her voice, but not. It rumbled with something dark and ancient. “She would hear you and come back? She is gone.”

“No,” Cordelia sobbed. “No, I don’t believe you!”

“It does not matter whether you believe it or not,” said Belial. “It is true. She gave herself to me willingly, allowed me to possess her, to control her.” Her eyes that were not her own slithered along with Cordelia. “Do not worry, Cordelia. I promise to make your death quick.”

He lifted Lucie's hands as lightning crackled above her.

With nowhere to dive or hide, Cordelia braced herself for the end. At least if she had to go, they would go together, the way they’d always planned since they were little girls lying in fields of wild daisies. It’s what she’d screamed at Lucie when she’d nearly fallen off the cliff and wanted Cordelia to let go, to save herself.

But she wouldn’t let go, no matter how tired her arm was or how she felt herself slip. Lucie would not go alone.

As thunder rumbled over her head, Cordelia felt the earth shake underneath her palms. The sound of a painful sob mixed with it.

Cordelia opened her eyes to see Lucie, her hands in tight fists at her sides, grimacing at the sky.

“Lucie!” Cordelia pushed herself to her feet and reached for her friend again. “Lucie, it’s me. I’m here!”

“You must go!” cried Lucie. “I can’t fight him. You have to kill me.”

“No!” Cordelia held her tighter. “No, I won’t. And I won’t allow anyone else to either. You can separate yourself. You must!”

“I can’t.” Lucie shuttered. “He’s— too strong.”

“Try!” Cordelia begged. “Try. He is the father of lies and deceit. You need only not believe him. Try. Try, Lucie, and I’ll help you.”

There was a split second of silence. Then there was a rumble, as though the particles in the air were all vibrating.

The sound struck her like a wall, and her bones vibrated. A flash of lighting zipped down the center of a building. The air shattered in a deafening explosion. The blast seemed to rip through the air sending Cordelia away from Lucie again and off of her feet. Her head struck the ground, pain caused her consciousness to waver. The dazed, drugged sensation seeping into her lucidity as she tried to push herself back to her feet again. She shook her head, blinking and trying to clear her mind. There was a sharp, painful ringing in her ears that muted all other sounds. She glanced at the building that had been destroyed before her eyes found Lucie again.

She froze with despair as Lucie trembled and fought in a losing battle.

Cordelia stumbled and faltered.

Her body is still very much human, she remembered Magnus tell them.

She dropped Cortana and tried to stand again. She couldn’t kill her friend. She wouldn’t.

But she wouldn’t die either.

She’d promised James. He was waiting for her. A lifetime of happiness, everything she’d ever wanted and waited for.

She stumbled forward again.

The sky rumbled again above her and she could feel the energy beneath her skin.

She managed to pick up speed, enough that when she hit Lucie, they collided hard enough that their bodies hit the rope railing to the bridge and they plummeted towards the water together.

Her whole body ached with cold, as though there was frost spreading from her core outwards. It sucked the air out of her lungs as she sank deeper into the water. Her grip loosened on Lucie for a moment as the freezing water took over her, but when Lucie tried to kick towards the surface, Cordelia dragged her back down again.

Underwater, Belial’s power faltered when Lucie’s did as she struggled for air.

Water continued to swallow Cordelia, filling her eyes and ears. She was surrounded by it, a blackness that opened up around her like a pit. She could see the pale light of the sky above them, receding into the distance as the weight of their garments and her weapons dragged them down. She had to fight against her instincts not to kick herself to the surface.

Hopelessly, she clung to Lucie. The light from the ever-receding sky lit the area around them, but she could see nothing but darkness. The water near the surface was a pale grey, the color of storm clouds, but everywhere else it was black as nightmares.

Her lungs began to ache.

Lucie kicked against her, but with her strengthening rune, her grip held firm.

It wouldn’t be long. She only needed to last longer than Lucie and then she could rise to the surface and breathe again. She reminded herself of such as her lungs burned and felt as if they were on the edge of exploding. She fought against every urge to take a breath.

Lucie’s muffled screams bubbled around her, silent.

Just go still, she pleaded.

It wasn’t Lucie fighting though. It was Belial, holding onto the last hope of his resurrection.

Haunting images moved around them.

Demons, she quickly realized.

They were all around her. Waving tentacles lined with suctions that each had their own row of massive teeth reached towards them. Cordelia reached for her seraph in her belt and thought its name.

The blade blazed to life in her hand, illuminating the scarlet, snake-like thing as it shot through the water towards her. She swung the blade and severed a limb that had been reaching for her leg. Black oil began to ooze around them in a dark cloud.

Just a little longer.

Lucie began to shudder in her grasp.

The lack of oxygen pounded against Cordelia's head. Her chest began to spasm and every part of her wanted to panic, to thrash, to take a breath. Her lungs felt as though they would collapse at any moment in her chest. When she felt as if she could not possibly hold her breath any longer, Lucie finally went limp and unconscious.

Now!

The cold water stirred underneath her feet as she swam up, up, up. She had to hurry for there was little time left.

At the surface, she could see the sun breaking through the clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: 
> 
> Just a couple of things: I made up a few of these demons. There is no such thing as a Drothki demon, but it sounded cool, so I went with it. 
> 
> I did not intend to end this chapter on such a cliffhanger, but I didn’t have enough time to finish it, which means there will be two more parts after this: a last chapter and an epilogue. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please leave me comments letting me know what you think. 
> 
> Next part comes at you on Feb 15. 


	31. The Other Side

It was worse than anything James could have imagined.

His shoulder was torn to shreds and reeked of blood from a Behemoth demon that snuck upon him while he was trying to behead a Raum demon, and there seemed to be no end to the snapping of teeth; leathery wings; the screeching, and screaming. The sun bled into a vibrant sunrise, the sky matching the gore in the streets.

Not only were they facing demons, but an army of undead soldiers flooded the streets. An army that Belial called forth with Lucie's power.

And for being dead for centuries, they were surprisingly difficult to kill.

James sprinted, his breath sharp as a knife in his chest.

He’d run out of throwing knives, wasting no time to retrieve them after they’d found their mark in a demon’s skull or vital organ, dropping to the ground after they’d returned to the realm of which they came. It seemed when one died, two returned in their stead. No, there was no wasting time. He drew a pair of curved blades, glowing with angelic power, from his belt and sliced through the belly of a demon that swooped for him, knocking it off-kilter, and brought the twin to the blade down in another arch over the neck of the beast.

Another was on him before the first could disappear. Ichor sprayed his face as he buried his blade to the hilt into the jaw of a demon, its blackened teeth scrapped against his hand as he drew the blade back out. Its lifeless eyes widened and then closed as it slumped to the ground.

Still, he ran, working his way towards the bridge where Cordelia ran to save Lucie. Creating a path for her and buying her time to figure out a way to separate her from Belial.

Another demon launched from a rooftop, curved claws reaching for him—

James swiped his sword, splitting the demon’s molding green skin from gut to neck. It crashed into the stones behind him, legs outstretched beneath it, twitching slightly. He climbed atop of it, gaining the clearance he needed to see Cordelia embracing Lucie on the bridge.

She’d made it. A little longer— that was all she needed. Just a little longer. He could give her that— he would give her that. It wouldn’t be long now.

The demon flinched beneath him. He stuck the point of his blade into the base of its neck, not taking his eyes off of Cordelia and Lucie, as he slid the blade all the way in. The beast spasmed beneath him until he jerked the sword backward and severed the head from the spine. He landed deftly on his feet as the demon disappeared out from underneath him.

Behind him, his friends fought as a team. Christopher and Anna paired up against a humanoid demon with the body of a man, except for the obsidian skin and the talons that grew from each finger and the leathery wings that sprung from its back. They had it cornered, one distracting it while the other attacked.

Thomas stood back to back with Alastair, fighting three lion sized demons.

Across the bridge, he knew his parents were fighting their way towards the bridge or attempting to keep Charles from executing Lucie before they had the chance to save her.

But Matthew, he could see Matthew. His parabatai rune blazed in his skin, the only indication that he was alive and not in peril, but it made him nervous not to be able to see him.

A demon surged at him from around a corner, taloned fingers gouging lines into the cobblestones, jaws open aiming for his throat. With its talons, it managed to cut through James’s forearm slashing through armor and skin. A groan tore from James as the pain seared through his arm, he released his blade on instinct and listened in horror as it clattered to the ground.

James managed to hurl himself backward from under the demon as it seemed to lick its mouth in anticipation of its kill. It leaked saliva on the ichor soaked streets as it advanced upon him. Seeming to savor every step.

Its last steps.

With his other blade pinned beneath him, James reached for a seraph blade at his thigh.

The demon sank onto its haunches, reading for the kill.

The ground shook behind him as James tightened his grip on the hilt, whispered its name, and aimed the blade upward—

Before he could strike, a sword plunged through the demon’s great gray head.

A vibrant glowing blade, that seemed to sing as it met the demonic blood. The demon evaporated with an audible hiss and disappeared as if on a breeze. A blond head appeared above James, streaked with black that also dripped down his face.

With a bloodied hand, Matthew offered it to James.

“Thought you could use some help.” His _parabatai_ grinned.

“I had it under control,” said James, shaking the burn from the slashes on his arm.

Matthew’s eyebrows bounced. “Oh, my mistake. It looked like you were about to be the poor chaps breakfast.”

“Your mistake indeed,” said James and patted Matthew on the shoulder. “Where the hell are they all coming from?”

“The answer seems to lie within the question,” said Matthew with a wink. “Whatever Belial has done it seems that they’re able to regenerate at a faster rate. If we keep going on like this then we don’t stand a chance.”

“Always the optimist,” said James and threw the words over his shoulder. “Cover me!”

He barely heard Matthew’s reply of, “always,” before he ripped into an undead, with a quick scissor swipe of his blades that sent the beast’s head rolling. Gore splattered his gear, his face, but he made no hesitation as he ran towards the bridge.

Matthew kept to his word, ripping apart demon and undead with precision and vengeance that might have stunned James if his focus was not otherwise detained.

Another undead dragged its crooked ankle towards James, just as he flipped the blade in his right hand and split the creature’s skull in half. He whirled on another, but before he could dismember it, a flash of brilliant light and deafening thunder clapped overhead. The earth shuddered underneath his feet. He spun around and looked towards the bridge as a building on the other side of the Thames split in half.

His eyes found Lucie standing with her hands squeezing her head. Cordelia lay on the ground not far away, struggling to stand. He called her name— screamed it— begging her to get away.

An arm wrapped around his neck and he felt the sharp needle points of teeth dig into his trapezius muscle. He raised his elbow against a flash of searing pain and drove the end of his blade into the centre of the undead’s brain.

His shoulder spilled blood, but he hardly noticed as he started to run towards the bridge, to where Cordelia now stood running towards Lucie.

He yelled her name again as Lucie turned to face Cordelia at the same moment they impacted.

Cordelia’s name lodged in his throat once more as he watched them twist over the bridge railing and hurtle towards the black water beneath.

* * *

Lucie awoke in a field that reminded her very much of the one behind her family's estate in Alicante. The soft, lush green grass of spring tickled her bare arms as a docile wind blew through the hills carrying with it the smell of rain, crystal clear lake water, and earth. Lucie’s hand moved against the solid earth beneath her and looked up at the entire world above her, full of distant, burning lights.

Where the normal blue of the sky had gone, she wasn’t entirely sure, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered now, she felt. For she was free.

The terrible, clawing darkness that had consumed her as soon as Belial dragged her into the centre of the star exploded the moment her body had given up underneath the water, Cordelia holding her against the savage need to take a breath. She’d saved them— in ending Lucie, she saved them all.

“Not quite, little huntress,” said a familiar, female voice.

Lucie peeled far enough away from the ground to look at the beautiful, angular, human face of the ghost that had visited her in the Shadowrealm. The dark hair spilled down from her head, no longer white and ghost-like, but full and glistening.

Some intrinsic part of her recognized this woman. An ancient song in her blood sang out to the woman before her.

Lucie’s eyes narrowed, “You— I know you.”

The ghost’s smile was soft. “Do you remember now?”

“You're Abigail,” said Lucie as a shudder went through her entire body. “You’re Abigail Shadowhunter. Part of the first three. You’re— this is— Oh, James is never going to believe—“ A realization dawned on her at the thought of her elder brother. “Am I dead then? Is it really over?”

“Not dead,” said Abigail as she crossed her arms across her chest. She was dressed oddly mundane for what she always imagined Abigail Shadowhunter to be dressed as. In Lucie’s mind, she would have looked more like a Viking princess rather than the old leather trousers, thick deerskin jacket, and white cotton blouse. She was beautiful: ancient angelic power radiated from her like the confidence in her kind expression. “Not dead yet. You’re somewhere we like to call, the in-between. Your brother has been here before, briefly. So has your mother and your uncle James, but they wouldn’t remember it, and neither will you.”

“But it’s you. This is really you?”

Abigail chuckled and peered at the churning darkness above them. “Yes. There isn’t much time, Lucie Herondale. Your mortal body is dead, but this does not have to be your end. You can choose to return to your family, your friends.”

Lucie’s expression deadened. “I can’t go back. He’ll find me. He’ll use me again. He’ll kill everyone that I love. Not to mention what the clave will do to me now that they’ve learned what I can do, what I am. No, it’s much better that I stay here and go with you.”

Abigail crossed her arms. “Better? Better for whom?”

“For everyone!” Lucie blinked rapidly. “Better for my family, better for my friends—“

“You truly believe the loss of their daughter is better for your parents,” said Abigail. “You believe the loss of a sister, a friend, a companion is better for their lives going forward. Lucie, the loss of you will shatter their entire world. They will carry that loss in their souls for the rest of their lives. Your memory will stop at a single moment for them and never change. Do you wish to leave them to the wonder what you might have looked like in your twenties, thirties, and beyond? The things you could have accomplished?”

Lucie bowed her head afraid that she might break clean apart. “No. No, I don’t want those things. I’m scared.”

“It’s all right to be frightened, Lucie,” said Abigail. “Everyone is afraid of something. Your parents are living their worst fear right now. Can you feel it? Their tether to you— like a string around your heart.”

Lucie placed a hand on her chest and felt the cold ache there like a massive hole. She nodded wordlessly and began crying.

“They’re begging every diety they know of to return the life to your body.” Abigail knelt in front of Lucie. “If only they knew it was your choice.” She gave her a knowing smile. “And what of the boy? The Blackthorn boy?”

Lucie wiped at her face. “What of him?”

Abigail’s smile turned gentle. “He was trapped in this space for many years without the ability to move beyond. We’ve all heard him speak about you— about getting back to you. Are you going to abandon the possibility of that future by staying here when he’s only just gotten his life back?”

Lucie’s breath shuddered from her chest. She’d thought it was a dream, some ploy created by Belial to get her to follow him, but it was true. Jesse was alive. Jesse was waiting for her.

She inhaled, staring at the grass that was not real. None of it was real. She’d contemplated staying in a place with things that looked and felt real but were not. Like living in the pages of a book, an image of real things. She’d give up life for this?

Lucie sniffed. “What do I need to do? How do I stop him once I’ve returned? How do I stop any of it?”

Abigail rose again. “Leave that to us.” Lucie’s gaze shifted from Abigail’s regal face to those behind her where a crowd began to form behind her, a legion of hundreds of faces, some Lucie recognized and many she did not. The man on Abigail’s right smiled at her, a kind mischievous smile that did not correlate with the serious renderings of him standing atop a pile of demons in a blaze of glory hanging up in the Institute. Jonathon Shadowhunter had his arms crossed much like his older sister, though he was much taller and more solidly built, and he looked—well, humored. An ancient blade sheathed his back.

To his right stood another man. Lucie recognized him as David, the _parabatai_ to the warrior standing beside him. His gaze could old the power of thunder in it.

Behind the three, Shadowhunters of generations past marched up the hill to gather. A face stood out amongst the front line.

“Barbara!” Lucie yelled.

Her friend beamed, whole and vengeful.

Amongst the other fallen warriors, she could recognize her grandfather Edmond with eyes that mirrored her father’s, and though she’d never met her, from photographs her father had shared, she recognized her Aunt Ella who looked a bit like herself.

“So you see, Lucie Herondale,” said Abigail. “You will not be going alone.”

Lucie’s lips trembled. “How— how is this possible?”

“You make it possible,” said Abigail. “You and only you can control the dead. A gift that if bestowed upon some other hand might be catastrophic, but your heart is light and your motives pure and selfless. Therefore, with your command, we will listen.”

Lucie’s gaze snapped back. “You mean I’m to command them? You?”

“That is what I mean,” nodded Abigail. “And you must do it quickly. Time is running out. If you do not return soon then this is where you will remain.”

Lucie didn’t give herself a chance to reconsider, to rethink what would be waiting for her on the other side. She looked beyond Abigail’s shoulder at her fallen family and committed every one of their faces to memory. Perhaps she wouldn’t remember this moment when she awoke, but she’d honor them now.

“Okay,” said Lucie and returned to her feet. “I’m ready. Tell me what to do.”

* * *

Cordelia knelt over Lucie after having dragged her limp body to the shore through water that felt more like sand.

The fight blazed on around her. Demons swarmed the sky and the earth amongst the army of undead that Belial called to his aid; both of which were being kept back by warriors that were beginning to tire. It seemed it would never end. Never, never end.

But none of that mattered now. None of it.

Cordelia pressed her fingers to Lucie’s throat, knowing what she wouldn’t find.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed at her friend’s lifeless face. “I’m so so sorry.”

With shaking hands, she pressed into Lucie’s chest: one, two, three. She swallowed a deep breath of air and blew into Lucie’s mouth.

Again, she pressed against Lucie’s chest cavity and could feel the liquid slosh around in her belly, her lungs.

One. Two. Three.

“Please,” she begged and gave Lucie another burst of air. “You can’t die. You can’t die. You. Cannot. Die.”

One. Two. Three.

Air.

A demon screeched above her as if careened through the sky, several arrows bursting from its chest as it drifted towards the Thames and landed into the water with an eruptive wave.

One. Two. Three.

Lucie’s lips were turning a startling shade of blue. Her skin was so cold as Cordelia pressed her fingers to her throat again.

Nothing. Not even a flutter.

“Come on!” Cordelia pleaded. One. Two. Three. Air. “Please! Please, this has to work. It has to." Her voice went to a whisper. "It has to.”

Tears streamed down Cordelia’s face and dripped onto Lucie’s as she gave her another breath. And began pumping her torso again, refusing to accept that her friend was gone. That her soul had left this world to a place that Cordelia could not pull her back from.

“You’re not finished,” said Cordelia, with a chest breaking sob. “You’re not finished yet. Do you hear me? We’re going to grow old together, you and I. We’re going to have that ceremony and we’re going become _parabatai_ and then neither one of us will feel alone again. I promise, Lucie, but you have to breathe.”

A crack of lightning shimmered the sky above her. She felt the electricity through her bones, but she did not stop.

* * *

She was cold. Cold and wet and stiff.

A burning sensation in her chest climbed up her throat until she burst forward, expelling the waste from her lungs. It tasted like mud on her tongue. She felt as if she’d swallowed the whole Thames.

But she was breathing. Her heart was pounding in her chest— and she was breathing.

Arms, shaking cold arms were wrapped around her. A hand slammed into her back as she tried to breathe through the water and bile still trapped in her lungs.

She dimly registered that she was lying on the bank of the river. Cordelia crying into her ear and held her up to get the water out.

“Was that your idea of a rescue?” said Lucie, her voice sounded like she’d swallowed gravel.

Cordelia laughed and pulled away enough to look Lucie in the face. Blood covered Cordelia’s own, her blood or something else’s, Lucie could not tell. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Lucie coughed. “Barely. I may never get the taste out of my mouth.”

“It takes some time,” said Cordelia, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, even as she laughed, “but it does go away. Believe me.”

She smiled at Cordelia and her friend smiled back. “Did you mean what you said? Will you really be my _parabatai_?”

Cordelia drew Lucie into another hug. Her clothes were wet and reeked of ichor and muddy river water, but Lucie didn’t mind. She hugged her dear friend back as if she were the tether keeping her stationed in this world.

“A promise is a promise.”

“Oh, but you already make such a wonderful team,” said a voice behind them. Lucie’s eyes shot open as she slowly peeled herself away from Cordelia to look at the archdemon standing on the muddy banks. “Why ruin it with semantics?”

Cordelia started to stand but Lucie gripped her arm.

His physical form flickered as if he were there, but not fully. Lucie suspected that was exactly the case. He’d started the transition from his own realm to this one, but it was not complete yet; therefore he could not fully take form, not without his host.

Lucie stood, her foot slipping on the muddy bank, but she held her ground.

“It’s over, Belial.” Lucie was about to say, but someone had already said it for her.

She turned and relief and pride and hope, filled her chest at Abigail standing on the banks. She’d returned to her ghostly form, but the centuries of rage still burned behind her eyes. 

“Abigail,” said Belial as his lips curled over his teeth. “So wonderful to see you again. It’s been too long.”

Demons and undead started to fall around them, taken down by the army of shimmering white figures that burst through their bodies with angelic light and sent them back to where they’d come from in bursts of mist.

An army— her army, flooded the streets and fought beside the living Shadowhunters, filling them with a renewed sense of hope.

“It has been too long,” said Abigail. In a flicker of light, the ghost moved forward and grabbed Belial by the throat. His form solidified for just a moment, long enough for Abigail to yell, “Now!” And for Lucie to pick up Cortana from the ground beside Cordelia and drive it into Belial’s chest, up through his sternum, and out his back.

His eyes and mouth widened as centuries of pain and torture flashed within them and Lucie saw all of it. Everything he’d done as the light began to burst from the cracks rippling through his skin, the blade at the centre of it.

_Only a kin can kill an archdemon_ , Abigail had told her as she descended back to earth. _Only a kin can have enough power. It must be you, Lucie._

The blade burned in her palm until she released it and fell backward onto the marsh and watched in horror as Belial screamed into an unknown void and then burst apart in a wave that took every demon and undead with him.

In the blast, Lucie was thrown back, her head hit the ground in a deafening crack. With no runes to help her, she succumbed to the blinding pain and fell once more into darkness.

* * *

Lucie was faintly aware of being hoisted into the air and the ground leaving her. Warmth pressed against her cheek where she laid it on something soft.

Whispering, hushed words were spoken into her ear and she was being rocked.

“Lucie, my Lucie,” said a voice. “You’re safe, my darling. I’ve got you. Papa’s got you.”

With what strength she had left, she wrapped her arms around her father’s neck and let him carry her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t have any more words in me. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you thought! Final chapter comes out in one week: Mon, 2/22


	32. An Evening I Will Not Forget

The Parabatai rune on the center of Lucie’s back sent a course of happiness through her as Cordelia and James kissed for the first time as husband and wife underneath the cherry wood harbor adorned with delicate white daisies.

It’d been six months since the battle on the bridge. Six months since everyone she loved found out about the power that lurked within her. Six months to help rebuild a demolished part of London that the mundanes claimed to be a terrorist attack and were still investigating which country it might have been. They’d soon forget all about it though, as soon as the roads were repaved and the debris washed from the streets by the rains. Mundanes were so easily distracted.

The looks from other families hadn’t stopped in those six months, however. When Lucie would be out walking with Cordelia or her mother when she’d catch a glance from some busybody that would end in them scuffling away whispering underneath their breath. Tessa would go on as if she hadn’t noticed anything, but there had been a few times when Lucie had to distract Cordelia from shoving the notorious gossips into the park fountain.

It didn’t bother her as much as she'd expected it to. She heeded her brother’s wise advice and “just ignored them” on most days. When someone was brave enough to whisper an insult behind her back, she may or may not have asked a wandering ghost to tie their shoelaces together or perhaps undo their suspenders so their trousers slipped to the ground. Even though she was under she’d strict orders never to conjuring the dead.

“The dead have fought and earned their peace,” said Charles as soon as he was well enough to hold a Consul meeting. He'd suffered a grave injuring during the battle on the bridge-- though not grave enough. “I’m sure they don’t appreciate you disrupting them.”

During the entire meeting not once did he meet Lucie’s eyes or even glance at her. He spoke to her parents as if they held more control over her power than she did. She knew there would be those that feared her, but she’d decided not to bother with them or their opinions.

Not when the ones that mattered the most had welcomed her with open arms.

Not once did her parents hesitate to hug her, hold her, or speak openly about what she’d been able to do since she was a child.

“I knew it,” said Will, kissing her forehead. “I told your mother when you were still in her womb that you were going to be special.”

“You said she’d be able to recite Tennyson by the time she was three,” said Tessa, her arm wrapped tightly around Lucie’s shoulders.

“I could speak to Tennyson if you’d like,” grinned Lucie.

They all grinned with her and for the first time, she wondered why she never told them to begin with.

And they never asked. Perhaps there was an understanding amongst them or perhaps they were all just happy to have escaped Belial without a member missing that they didn’t bother with such trivial things as what was or was not said in the past. It didn’t matter why she never told them— they knew now and they loved her still.

Both James and Cordelia wanted a short engagement and nothing too grand or spectacular, to the chagrin of Sona. Tessa tried not to share her opinion on the matter, but Lucie could tell her mother secretly wanted an elaborate wedding and made Lucie promise that when her time came that she’d at least have some sort of grand party.

Lucie assured her that she would. There wouldn’t be a family in this realm or the next that didn’t know about the elaborate event.

Helping Cordelia with her plans and watching her quiet, secretive interactions with her brother often made her think of Jesse. He left for Alicante with Grace to settle a few familial affairs and similar to their acceptance of Lucie’s abilities, the Consul wasn’t so sure about how to feel about Jesse being resurrected and thought it best to reintroduce him into their society, slowly.

She hadn’t had even a moment alone with him, to see if whatever existed between the two of them still existed now. She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to rely on her talks with him until she could no longer communicate with him whenever she pleased. She’d written several letters to him. Seventy-two to be exact, and they were all tucked into a hidden compartment in her desk.

Letters that spilled her unaltered, unreserved, erratic thoughts; confessions she could never and possibly would never say aloud.

The last letter she wrote was a week ago and after careful contemplation and exhausting her feeling in the other letters, she found herself brave enough to put it in with the post to be sent to where Jesse was staying.

She knew there was a fraction of a chance that he would write her back, but at least there wouldn’t be any more wondering afterward. She’d finally be able to close that chapter— his chapter and move on.

From the entrance steps to the Institute, she watched the guests find their seats. Her eyes shifting amongst their familiar faces, secretly hoping that he would appear amongst them. When he never did, she refused to let herself be disappointed and distracted herself by organizing the bouquet of long-stemmed white daisies, weaving in sprigs of evergreen and silver heart-shaped eucalyptus.

The hustle of servants and groomsmen went past her in a blur. She’d had to help Thomas and Christopher with their ties earning her a kiss on the cheek by both men. They both smelt of whiskey and the gleam in their eyes told her all she needed to know about what went on in their dressing room earlier this afternoon.

When Cordelia emerged from where she was being primed and prepped, Lucie was waiting by the stairs— the only bridesmaid that Cordelia chose-- and beamed at her best friend and Parabatai’s beauty. Beside Lucie at the end of the stairs, stood Alastair. Silver already rimming his eyes at the sight of his sister.

Her vibrant red hair was elegantly pinned back in a braid that crowned her head with daisies interwoven throughout. Around her face hung only loose curls. Her makeup was subtle: just a hint of blush on her cheeks, a swipe of mascara on each eye, and a soft red on her full, heart-shaped lips. The gold of her dress shimmered as she walked down the stairs, the sun bursting through the round window behind her had her glistening in a way that would put the stars to shame. The silk fabric clung to every inch of her curves. The swooped neckline showed off a respectable amount of her chest that swelled with each swollen breath she took.

While she was an absolute vision, it was her smile that had tears springing to Lucie’s eyes. Never, in all of her short life, had she ever seen someone so happy.

“It’s not too late,” she heard Alastair whisper in Cordelia’s ear as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I can have a carriage meet us in the back in two seconds.”

Cordelia took his hand in hers. “That would be an awful waste of a perfectly good cake.”

“Well take it with us,” he shrugged.

“It’s four feet tall,” whispered Lucie. “And at least that wide. Bridget has no control when it comes to weddings, I’m afraid. Perhaps only take the top part.”

Alastair nodded at that.

Cordelia nudged Lucie. “Do not encourage him.”

The three of them walked to the closed doors they were to exit out of, walk down the stairs to the aisle, and land at the alter where James waited beside Matthew, Christopher, Thomas, and Will. Charlotte was asked to officiate the service and happily agreed.

When the music started playing, Lucie turned to Cordelia to speak, but she was leaning her head against her brother’s shoulder and she decided not to speak. Alastair’s eyes shimmered again as he looked forward.

Lucie had waited in the other room while Cordelia asked him to be the one to walk her down the aisle instead of their father. While Alastair’s opinion of James had only improved slightly, he agreed. The words exchanged between the two of them, Lucie didn’t know, but when they emerged from the room both of their eyes were rimmed with red and she knew that it was not for her to know or understand.

When she faced forward again, the music began to build and the wooden doors opened to a cool breeze. Lucie, in her periwinkle blue dress, smiled at the crowd that turned to watch her. At the back sat longtime friends. Bridget looked as if she’d started crying hours ago. The Townsend’s, Penhallow’s, Rosewain’s, Ashdown’s, Wentworths, and others all filled the back rows. Including some that Lucie didn’t recognize that might have fallen under Cordelia’s kin. Towards the front rows, Lucie found Henry in his chair beside an arrogant-looking Charles. In front of them sat Anna and Ariadne with her Aunt Cecily and her Uncle Gabriel who looked to be holding back tears. In the same row sat Sophie and Gideon, while she watched Lucie, Gideon watched his wife. When the rumors came out about Gideon and Charlotte, Lucie dismissed it as absolute rubbish because for as long as she could remember, the only person Gideon’s eyes ever softened for was Sophie. He looked at her the way her father often looked at her mother when Tessa wasn’t paying attention. They’d be reading on opposite ends of the couch, but her father’s eyes would wander off the page and watch Tessa.

Lucie often found herself hoping one day someone might look at her the same way.

Her Uncle Jem sat beside Tessa in the front row with Sona and Elias beside her, a bundle wrapped in a gold cloth covered the child nestled against Sona’s chest. Alastair’s and Cordelia’s little brother, the tufts of red hair could just barely be seen. Lucie had only met Elias once when she was young before he disappeared, she remembered him being stern but handsome. Through those years he’d been gone, the stern side seemed to overtake the handsome. His eyes were circled in darkness and he lacked color and shape in his face. Lucie wondered if that was perhaps why Cordelia chose Alastair to walk her instead.

When she reached the alter, James was the picture of a modern gentleman, but he also wore the expression of someone preparing for battle.

She brushed his shoulder with her own as she passed and whispered, “Relax.”

He released a breath he’d been holding and gave her a curt nod.

As she found her place across from James and his groomsmen, she turned to smile out to the crowd. Her heart sank just a little at the face that she did not find there.

The Blackthorns were invited, she knew. Both Jesse and Grace, but never received a card announcing their attendance. Lucie made sure that two spots were reserved for them just in case, but even now as she looked into the crowd those spots remained empty and the last flickering embers of hope that she kept alive for Jesse, evaporated in a puff of smoke.

* * *

The reception was held as such in the ballroom of the Institute. Persian rugs of all manner of color and design covered the floors and the spices and essence of Cordelia’s home and culture filled the room with life. Cordelia danced merrily with James for the fourth time, neither of them willing to let the other go. Only Alastair managed to sneak a dance in with her while Tessa stole James away, but as soon as their dance was over like two ships in the night, Cordelia and James found each other again.

Matthew danced reluctantly with his mother.

Tessa danced with Will.

Alastair danced with his mother while Elias held the babe.

Anna danced with Ariadne, challenging anyone who might dare interject or judge the pairing with the harshest of looks.

Christopher danced with a timid Carolina Belltower, both looked completely out of place and uncomfortable. Lucie was sure Christopher had managed to step on her toes not once but four times in the two minutes of the song.

Thomas was the only other one not dancing and didn’t seem inclined to do so. He stood beside Lucie his eyes locked on Alastair.

In her six months as a social pariah, when she wasn’t helping with wedding plans or writing in her room, she took to observing those around her. Thomas and Alastair had become a favorite of hers, especially when they didn’t think anyone was paying them any mind. The friendship was timid and slow. At first, Lucie thought that they hated each other, but then she began to notice that whenever they all found themselves in a situation together, Thomas and Alastair seemed to gravitate towards each other. She observed with curiosity the subtle change in their relationship from a timid want to something she could only describe as a yearning.

It was there in Thomas's eyes now as he stared at Alastair across the room.

“You should ask him to dance,” said Lucie, nudging him with her elbow.

Thomas raised an eyebrow when he looked down at her. “Here?”

“Why not?”

“A whole manner of reasons why not,” said Thomas and looked down at the glass cup in his hands.

“Are you afraid someone will disapprove?” Lucie sipped from the refreshment in her hands. His silence gave her the answer she already knew. “I do not want to rush you into a decision, but take note from someone who hid a secret about herself from those she loved the most in the world— if they truly love you, and they do— it won’t matter to them. They will love you all the same. Their approval is not worth a lifetime of your unhappiness.”

Thomas slid a hand around her waist and pressed a quick kiss to her head. “Not all of us are as brave as you are.”

Lucie smiled to herself. “I shall lend you some of my bravery then. If you won’t dance with him, then at least go talk to him. You best hurry for the song is ending and if you don’t I might have the good sense to ask him myself.”

“Who will keep you company?”

Lucie looked to her left where Oscar, Matthew’s dog, was lying in wait by her feet for someone to pet him. “I have Oscar. He’s the perfect company. He doesn’t step on my toes, he doesn’t prattle on about dull things. He could stand for a breath mint, but otherwise, he’s the perfect companion.”

Thomas chuckled, then as the song came to a close, he stalked across the room to where Alastair was guiding his mother back to her seat.

Lucie watched as the two talked for a moment, both of them leaning towards each other slightly before they both turned towards the doors leading to the gardens.

Lucie felt a swell of pride at the momentary act of bravery and found herself wishing that the world would change just a bit faster to make room for the amount of love those two would share. And if the world wasn’t willing to change, well then she’d just make sure they had a safe place around her to be themselves— to figure it out.

The next song started a slow, sweet melody that had the partners in the room drawing just a bit closer to one another. Cordelia’s red hair stood out like a beacon in the center of the floor, James pressing his temple against her own as they talked quietly to one another.

Lucie had become so enamored with watching the way her brother’s face light up when Cordelia said something particularly funny that she didn’t notice or feel the presence come beside her.

“Not dancing?”

The smile slipped from her face as she turned to see the familiar dark-haired gentlemen standing beside her. His blue-green eyes shifted to hers for a moment as he leaned down, close enough that his shoulder brushed her own. “I used to enjoy watching you dance. You weren’t as serious as the other girls. You would abandon yourself to the music instead of focusing on the proper steps.”

A warmth rose in her cheeks. “I hadn’t known I had an audience.”

He ignored her jib and continued. “I stood and wondered what it would be like to be one of the gentlemen that had the pleasure of being your partner. I would have filled your card with my name if I could.”

Lucie swallowed the lump climbing up her throat. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming.”

“We weren’t.”

“And yet here you are,” she huffed.

“It was a last-minute decision elicited by a rather threatening letter.”

“My letter was hardly threatening.”

“Not your letter.” Jesse’s eyes went to Cordelia who was glaring at him from over James’s shoulder. “Your letter was lovely. Hers gave me nightmares.”

Lucie glared right back at her conniving friend. “I’m so pleased you felt pressured enough to come. If you’ll excuse me, my drink has gotten warm and I no longer want to be here.”

A lie, and also not. She didn’t know how to be there. How to talk to him without there being some physical limitation. She’d let him go. She’d written those letters and let him go. She wasn’t entirely sure she could do it again.

“Lucie—“

She’d already moved into the crowd and was walking towards the refreshment table.

She brushed past Christopher who had switched his brunette partner with a delicate blonde one. It took her a moment to realize it was Grace.

Lucie shouldered past them, set her cup down on the refreshment table, and gathered her skirts to rush out into the hall.

Some tried to stop her along the way to tell her how beautiful she looked and congratulate her on her ceremony with Cordelia.

She grinned and mumbled her ‘thank you’ before the servants opened the doors for her to exit through. Once out in the hall, cut off from the music, noise, and smell of the party, she was able to breathe. She was almost to the end of the hall when the noise filled the space again.

“Lucie!” Jesse’s footsteps came after her. “Please wait. I didn’t mean—“

She’d turned the corner and hurried towards the staircase.

“Stubborn child,” she heard him mumble behind her. She was near to the ground floor when he said. “Damn this physical form, if I were still a ghost—“

“But you are not anymore,” said Lucie, turning to face him as he slowed on the last few steps. A dark strand of hair had come loose and fell in his face. He’d let it grow since she last saw him, the tips grazed his shoulders, pieces curled around his cheekbones. He was beautiful, heartbreaking, ache in her gut, tongue numbingly beautiful. “You’re alive and can go and do as you please. I am not longer the only company that you can have and it was clear that you never wanted. If you have anything more to say, write me a letter.”

She turned to walk away again but a hand closed around her arm. “You’re the only company that I want.” He loosed a breath and drew his hand away, running it back through his hair. “Damn it, Lucie, even now in life, I have no control when I’m around you. Can’t you see, you’re the only person I want to talk to. Still the only person that sees me.”

“I thought that—“ she swallowed and stared at the crookedness of his tie. “You said that—“

“I didn’t mean what I said,” said Jesse before she could finish. “I said those things because I was trying to keep you from going to the Lightwood house where Belial was lying in wait. I was trying to protect you.”

“Why didn’t you say that?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” His dark eyebrows drew together in a pain-stricken expression. “I knew you’d think I was lying to keep you from trying to resurrect me and that’d you go anyway. I had to tell you something that you would believe… even if it broke your heart. Even if it broke my long-dead heart. I thought when you sent me away, locked me away that it’d worked, but then you bloody went anyway.”

“I went to tell Grace that I wanted to end our arrangement,” she said quietly. “As desperately as I wanted to bring you back, I wouldn’t have done it unless you wanted me to.”

“I’m an idiot,” he gasped. “I should have explicitly told you that Belial was there.”

“I wouldn’t have believed you,” said Lucie, with a small smile. “And if I had, I would have gone anyway if only to try to stop him. What happened was inevitable. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Regardless, I’ll punish myself for the rest of my life for it.” Jesse dared a step towards her. “Lucie, I have missed you.”

Tears prickled her eyes at the gentle way he spoke the words, yet she couldn’t holster the doubt that crept into her mind. “Why did you leave?”

“Guilt, shame, fear, of what the Clave would do to me, to Grace, because of our mother.” His hands tightened into fists at his sides. “Charles came to me after I’d been examined by the Silent Brothers and told me that I was to return to Alicante, immediately. He said I couldn’t be trusted and that I was to be placed under observation until further notice and when I inquired about you, he just gave me a grave look and would tell me nothing more.

“Everyone I spoke to gave me the same response. I thought you were dead. I thought Belial won. When I learned that he was defeated, I waited to hear from you, but when nothing came I thought maybe you were done. I thought maybe I'd lost you. I didn’t know what else to do so I left. I lost myself a little bit or rather I struggled with finding myself in this living world again. I think that I didn’t want it… not without you. It wasn’t until your letter arrived that I realized even if you had moved on, I hadn't. It took me weeks to gain clearance to come back here. The laws I had to break to be here.”

“You broke laws?”

He shrugged. “They’re bad laws anyway.”

A smile tugged on Lucie’s lips.

He braved another step. Inching just a bit closer.

Lucie took a shuttered breath. “I missed you too, Jesse Blackthorn. So much.”

It was the last bit of reassurance he needed as he moved forward, bending at the knees to wrap his arms around her waist and lift her against him. She wound her own around his shoulders, pressing her forehead against his own. He was real. Every inch of him, real. She ripped off her gloves and tossed them aside so she could feel him underneath her palms. The hardened plains of his back, his shoulders, his arms, his chest, until her fingertips grazed his jaw.

His breath hitched as if he were as starved for touch as she was.

He seemed to be content to do the same. As he slowly lowered her back onto her feet, his hands brushed the bare skin where her dress dipped just below her shoulder blades and continued to roam down her waist.

“Lucie,” his breath brushed against her lips.

Her mouth had gone dry. “Yes.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to feel you, touch you, hold you in my own hands,” he swallowed and his fingers brushed along her arms. “I’m half out of my mind right now with want of kissing you.”

“Why aren’t you then?”

He chuckled. “A nice girl like you found kissing a once dead man like me. The scandal.”

Lucie rose onto her toes. “I guess it’s a very good thing then that I’m already ruined.”

She tilted her head and met his lips with her own.

For the first time in Lucie’s life, she didn’t care about what people thought or the going on’s of the world around her. She let the intoxication of happiness overcome her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Her friend, the boy in the woods, the ghost who’d given up everything to save her brother, who’d given up everything to save her, was all that mattered in the moment. She couldn’t believe, hated the thought, that she was moments away from losing him.

But like that day in the wood so long ago, he found her… somehow he always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we DID it! I cannot believe it’s almost been a year since I started this project and what a year it has been. Thank you, thank you, thank you so much if you read one part, six parts, fifteen parts, the whole thing, or if you’re just joining us. Thank you for your comments, your likes, for your collaboration and encouragement. I have LOVED this challenge. I never had the bravery to do it before and while The Last Night was supposed to be a one-shot, I had so much fun expanding on it and playing around with some predictions. I hope you guys are satisfied with this ending. I know it ended with some Jucie* (I’m not even sorry) but I hope the Jordelia storyline was satisfying. I’ve learned so much from you guys and while there are about a million things I would like to change, mistakes I’d like to fix, or moments I want to expand on, I’m quite happy with the way this story turned out. Thank you again! 


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